


The Glow of the Cities Below Lead Us Back

by LavenderWater



Category: SKAM (Norway)
Genre: Angst, Feels, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Happy Ending, I promise nobody will stay dead though, Isak and Jonas are dead for the first part, M/M, Panic Attacks, Second Chances, Supernatural Elements, redo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 15:59:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18055571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavenderWater/pseuds/LavenderWater
Summary: Exactly a year to the day after Isak and Jonas die in an apartment fire, Even meets a strange man outside of his grief group. This man asks Even an impossible question: Would he rather move on from the pain of losing Isak or, if he could, would he chose to go back to him knowing what he knows now?Of course, Even chooses Isak.Except this man doesn't just bring Isak back. No, he takes Even back too, back to that awful day when he lost everything. But he has Isak again, even if just for the day, and just maybe he'll have the chance to set things right and save the love of his life.





	The Glow of the Cities Below Lead Us Back

**Author's Note:**

> This has been a trip, but I really enjoyed writing this and I'm actually really happy with how it turned out. While I'm a little nervous, I'm mostly just excited to share it with everyone now. (Even if it does contain a piece of my soul; seriously, it's pretty much a horcrux.)
> 
> This is my first time participating in a Big Bang, and it was so much fun. Big thanks to Julia for organizing everything and putting this event on.
> 
> Of course, the biggest thanks goes to my artist, flor-who-cares. I can't even begin to express how much I love the piece you made. You took a vulnerable and emotional moment and brought it to life in ways that I could never imagine. Seriously, I am in awe. Thank you for working with me and picking my fic to bring to life. I couldn't ask for anything better. All the love goes to you. <3 
> 
> Title for the fic comes from Bishops Knife Trick by Fall Out Boy- because I'm always a slut for FOB and that song is chock-full of Feelings.
> 
> I hope you like it. <3

He’s still staring at the post on Instagram when the buzzer rings, alerting him of both the fact that someone is at his door and the fact that it’s his least fucking favorite time of the week on the worst fucking day of his life. All he wants to do is sit on his bed and stare at the Instagram picture in peace, tears silently dripping down his face, sliding down his nose until they fall on the familiar grey duvet that’s somehow become a stranger in the last year. Maybe it’s because it no longer smells like his beautiful boyfriend despite Even’s attempts to conserve everything in the apartment in a desperate move to cling onto him for as long as he could, to prove to himself that it hadn’t all been a dream before the nightmare took hold.

 

The shrill sound shatters through the flat again, making Even’s ears ring. He’d like to think that if he just stayed still Eva would leave, but he knows that she won’t because despite the fact that there are no visible signs of life inside that can be seen from the street below, she knows he’s in there. Where else would he be today? It’s not like he can go to a cemetery, there would be nothing there but a marble stone and dirt. Besides, he made a promise to himself that he would at least try to fake it, slap on a smile and pretend to be fine until by some miracle maybe he would be. Sitting here in the dark, forcing Eva to go to the group alone, that would be breaking that promise. And Eva doesn’t deserve to be alone right now.

 

Taking a deep breath that gets exhaled on an even deeper sigh, he stands on shaky legs, taking a moment to close his eyes against a new onslaught of tears before making his way over to the call box, pressing the button for the intercom. “I’m coming, Eva,” he says, voice cracking. He tries swallowing around the lump in his throat, and when that doesn’t work he settles for wetting his lips. “Lost track of time. Give me five minutes to put my shoes on.”

 

They both know it’s a lie. He didn’t lose track of anything, but they’ve done this dance enough times now that Eva knows better than to call him on it. Or maybe she’s just a kinder person than Even at this point. Either way, she waits patiently for him on the sidewalk as he ties up his Nikes and grabs his keys from the little bowl on the table in the entry hall that Isak had put there years ago when Even was always losing his keys, making him late for work every other day as he tore the flat apart looking for them. For whatever reason, he always seemed to find them in their bed- our bed that’s just yours now his treacherous brain reminds him.

 

As he’s about to walk out the door, he stops in his tracks, hand frozen on the door knob where he’d been about to flip the lock. Hastily, he rushes back down the hallway, knocking his shin on the table when he takes the corner too quickly, but he ignores the pain. In reality, it’s kinda nice to feel like he feels something every now and again.

 

He goes straight to their wall with the drawings, lyrics, and memes- the most them place in the entire flat. In the very center is the picture Even drew all that time ago after the neon party, after their first almost kiss. It’s half Even and half Isak- the pink stripe drawn under one cheek, his eye closed peacefully.

 

Carefully, Even presses a trembling kiss against his own fingertips before brushing them against the cupids bow lips in the drawing, taking a moment to just hold them there, trying to recreate the sensation of chapped lips and warm breath in his mind. This is as close as he’ll ever come to kissing Isak again.

 

“I’ll be home later,” he throws over his shoulder as he pulls the door shut.

 

No one is there to hear it.

 

**

 

The thing no one tells you about grief group is that they let practically anyone in. Apparently, the motto is “grief is grief,” which is why they’re all currently sitting in a circle rehashing their own loses for probably the hundredth fucking time because a woman’s cat died today and she wanted to be consoled.

 

That’s another thing they forget to tell you about grief group- every time a new member joins, the leader makes you introduce yourself and tell about your lost loved one like it’s a personal treat to explain to everyone how they died.

 

Even’s currently picking at some skin on his thumb, digging his nails into the spot that was stained orange from the paint he’d been using in class earlier at the community center. He’d wanted to paint… well he’s not really sure what he had wanted to paint but he knew what he’d gotten as an end result. With every word that spills from Eva’s lips, his nails scratch a little deeper, like itching a scratch that’s on the inside, desperate to get the dyed orange off of him as it swirls into a miniature fire on his fingertip as his vision swims.

 

He doesn’t have to listen to Eva to know what she’s saying, and he doesn’t have to know what she’s saying to feel each word like a stab to his heart. He knows what happened like he knows the back of his hand, like he used to know Isak’s body better than his own.

 

Hell, he’d even seen it with his own two eyes: the black smoke rising above all the buildings, visible for blocks before you even arrived at the scene accompanied by an intense heat that shouldn’t have been possible in early March. The only difference between Even and Eva is that she had actually been there from the beginning. She was pulled from the building kicking and screaming by Mikael and Noora while Jonas had gone back in to try to get Isak.

 

It was just a party, just an unattended stove in the flat below, yet a handful of people died in a blaze that took out the entire apartment building and half of the one next to it. Even could still remember the call from Mikael, how frantic his voice was when he told him what was going on and that his boyfriend was still inside. He still has the text from Isak saying that he had left a little earlier with the boys and would see him at the party later after his shift. It was the last time Isak ever told him he loved him, and he hadn’t even gotten to hear it in that deep voice he loved, the one that could make his knees weak and his heart flip. No, instead he’d read those three precious words and found out later that by the time he sent a reply of his own it had been too late for Isak to have read it.   

 

Maybe the real kicker, though, is that at the hospital a few hours later while everyone who had made it out were being treated for smoke inhalation, the doctor confirmed that Eva was pregnant.

 

The whole thing was an entire shit show that made Even bitter in ways that he never thought possible.

 

“Even?”

 

He snaps his gaze up to look at the group leader, a woman probably in her mid-50s but wears enough makeup to conceal her actual age. That and she’s probably undergone at least one session of intense Botox. Even once spent an entire session staring at the wrinkles around her mouth that seemed to have frozen within the course of a week.

 

Today she has on a shirt that’s at least one size too small, a black skirt that should be at least two inches longer, and bright purple lipstick that matches her eyeshadow that for some reason is done up like a cat’s eye. Even’s had a few different therapists in his life, but he’s never felt disdain for any of them the way he does for Matilda.

 

“Would you like to add anything to what Eva’s just shared with the group?” she asks, spreading her arms out in front of her as though exposing to Even that, yes, they are in fact in a room full of people.

 

“Not really,” he says, shaking his head and going back to picking with the dyed skin of his thumb, contemplating the best way to get the color to fade as quickly as possible. Isak always knew what to do when he got paint stained on himself. He’d look at the ingredients and figure out what they were soluble with while Even almost always resorted to soap and water.

 

“You have nothing you want to say?” Matilda pushes doubtfully. She sounds disapproving like Even’s supposed to jump at the chance to tell these people about his feelings, about his Isak. He wants to scoff, but he’s stopped dead at her next words ringing out in the quiet, reverberating off the ceiling and linoleum tiles of the floor. “It’s been a year, Even. Surely, Isak wouldn’t want you to continue living like this; he’d want you to be able to talk with us openly.”

 

“Because you know what Isak would want,” Even says coldly, barely noticing the sting in his finger as he unintentionally peels the skin off, blood starting to well in the little opening. What he does notice, though, is Eva sighing- or letting out a sob, he’s not really sure and her long hair is obscuring her face from view. He doesn’t care, though. Can’t bring himself to care because who does this woman think she is talking to him like she personally knew one of the best people to grace the earth with his presence? “And, of course, I know it’s been a year, Matilda. I’ve only been fucking living it. I know exactly how much time has passed down to the god damn minute. I know what time the fire was reported to have started, I know what time the death certificate reads, I know how close it was to 21:21 that it makes it fucking hard to breathe,” he bites, shooting up from his chair, making it slide across the tiles with a dragging screech.  

 

“Is that what you want to hear?” he shouts at her, choking on the air as it slides down his throat, forcing his lungs to breathe like they must’ve tried to make Isak breathe through the smoke. “Or maybe I should tell you about how every day I wake up and have to remember that he’s gone all over again, that the bed sheets aren’t cold because he had an early class to get ready for or because his insomnia started kicking his ass again, but because he’s dead. What am I supposed to do with that?! What do I do with that?” he asks frantically, eyes wide and filled with unshed tears that only fall when the force he’s shaking his head with forces them to shake free.

 

The room is quiet enough that you could hear a pin drop, everyone afraid to say anything let alone move and draw attention to themselves. They’re all staring helplessly at the tall boy in the middle of the room who’s tearing his heart out of his chest for them all to dissect with prying eyes and cold hands. It’s the most he’s ever said in group- the most he’s talked about it out loud to anyone in a while honestly.

 

Slowly, Eva stands and makes her way to Even, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his arm in a manner similar to how you would approach a pet that had been out in the wild for a time before returning home. His arm trembles under her hand, and the tremors are becoming visible throughout his entire body as they rack his lithe frame to its core.

 

“Even,” she chokes out, but there’s not much else she can say and she knows that all too well because nothing anyone ever says to her is enough to fill the void in her heart either.  

 

“He wasn’t even supposed to be there,” he tells her weakly, all the fight having left his body. “If he just would’ve waited for me to finish my shift, then he wouldn’t have been there when the fire started. And Jonas wouldn’t have went back in. He wasn’t supposed to be in there either, I can feel it. And I’m so sorry, Eva.”

 

She moves to wrap him in a hug but he brushes her off, mumbling something about needing a smoke before making his way to the red double doors at the back of the room. At least his outburst seems to have put a damper on group and quite honestly looks like it scared the shit out of Matilda. He only wishes that he could enjoy it as he steps out into the biting air, pulling a carton of Menthols from his jacket pocket along with the old lighter he’d gotten at an antique shop.  

 

He stumbles down the street until he feels like he’s far enough away from the center to be able to breathe without the stench of other people’s mourning scorching down his windpipe and takes a seat on the sidewalk, leaning his back against the brick wall of the closed library behind him, resting his elbows on his bent knees, feet resting on the raised curb.

 

‘’None of this was supposed to happen,” he scoffs, pulling the unlit cigarette from between his lips and idly turning it around in his fingers.

 

“I’m inclined to agree with you there.”

 

Even’s eyes snap open at the deep, rattling voice, looking up to find the source. Only there’s no one there. For a brief second, Even wonders if he finally snapped. After… after, Even always felt like it was a matter of time before he slid into an insanity that he couldn’t climb out of, like full-on seeing Isak’s ghost and shit like that. The time must have finally come because it looks like he’s hearing voices now.

 

At least they agree with him. That has to be some kind of plus, right?

 

Except when the voice comes again, it’s not from somewhere inside Even’s head but rather somewhere to his right, and when he glances over that direction he finds an old man sitting on the ground beside him in a position mirroring his own. He startles, rearing back from the man, upper body falling away from the stranger, legs splaying wildly as he tips over.

 

“Whoa, there,” the man says, reaching over and grabbing Even’s elbow in a firm grasp, pulling him back up right. “Didn’t mean to frighten you, son. Thought you saw me approach.” He laughs gently- not necessarily like he’s mocking Even, but more like he knows there’s no way in hell that Even saw him sit down when his eyes had been shut and now he’s just waiting to see if Even’s going to call him out on his bullshit.

 

“Um, no. I didn’t see you,” Even mumbles, looking at the palm of his hand, which is stinging from some loose gravel that had impressed into his skin when he’d fallen over.

 

“My apologies, then, Even,” he says with a squeeze to his shoulder before going back to his earlier position with his elbows on his knees, hands folded where they’re dangling between his legs.

 

The use of his name sets Even on edge, his blood running cold as he takes the stranger in. At first, he wonders if he followed him out here from group. The guy is wearing a pretty pristine looking suit, complete with a thin black tie, but most people in the grief group dress casually with the exception of newcomers, so Even definitely would have noticed him even in his disinterested state. Even’s fairly certain he’s not interesting enough to warrant himself a stalker either, so it looks like he might be back at that break with reality option, especially when he looks at the snow around them and fails to find the guy’s footprints. It hasn’t snowed enough in the last five minutes for them to get covered up. Even’s prints sure as hell haven’t been covered from his trek over from the center where the group met.

 

“You know my name,” he says, cringing a little at how his voice sounds. He was aiming for nonchalant to coax the guy into giving him information without scaring him away. He sounds like the exact opposite.

 

“Yes, I do,” he nods, apparently feeling no need at all to elaborate on it further. “You can call me Stan,” he informs, offering Even his hand, which he just stares at warily until the guy- Stan apparently- retracts it and adjusts his thick framed glasses awkwardly instead.

 

“What do you want, Stan?” He can’t really explain it but he just feels like this guy wants something. After all, you don’t just walk over to a complete stranger and sit beside them on the street in the cold unless there’s something to be gained from it. Maybe, if Even’s lucky, he just saw him with the pack of cigarettes and wants to bum one.

 

 

However, consistent with what day it is, Even isn’t lucky as Stan waves his hand at the cigarette Even offers him, long fingers brushing the flap on the top of the box with the motion. “I just want to talk to you for a few minutes, Even. Learn a few things. Maybe right a few wrongs. Wasn’t it you who just said it wasn’t supposed to be like this?” he reminds with raised eyebrows when Even gives him a disbelieving look about righting some wrongs. It’s not exactly his fault, though. How does this guy think he’s going to fix anything with Even when he’s never met him before, when Even himself is powerless to fix anything?

 

“Yeah, I did say that. But I don’t really think there’s anything you can do about it.”

 

“Maybe, maybe not,” Stan shrugs, “but I know that you’ve known difficult times. That you’re someone who was dealt a hard hand, seen sadness plenty of times before. Am I right?”

 

“No, you’re not right at all actually,” Even says around the rapidly forming lump in his throat that clearly doesn’t think he’s cried enough for one day yet. “I thought I knew depression and heartache and difficulty, but the truth is I didn’t know any of that until I lost… my boyfriend,” he finally settles on. It’s not enough, but it’s impossible to find a word to summarize everything that Isak was. Language is feeble like that. “It’s like- he was-”

 

“He completed you?” Stan supplies questioningly, trying to understand what Even’s trying to say.

 

“Not really. He didn’t-” Even cuts himself off, fiddling with his cigarette for a moment before lighting it, only cringing a little at the quick flicker of flame, immediately shutting down that part of his brain that always thinks about Isak’s last moments whenever he’s faced with fire.

 

“He didn’t complete me,” Even finally says after a few shaky drags, watching the clouds of his breath form as he talks and comparing them to the smoke given off from the cigarette. “I was always a complete person, and so was he. It’s more like he made me finally realize that I was a whole person, not just broken pieces of what should’ve been a person. I like to think I was that for him too, you know?” He looks over at Stan who’s only a little blurry from the water staring to collect in his eyes. “We were supposed to save each other,” he laughs, but it’s not the least bit funny and he ends up hiccupping out a sob about halfway through. Sniffing, he wipes his nose with the sleeve of his jean jacket, hiding his face from Stan while he composes himself, staring off down the opposite end of the street, licking his lips before taking another shaky drag to comfort himself.

 

That’s one of the things that bothers Even more than anything else. It makes his insides jittery and his skin confining and itchy to think about all the times they said it to each other, all the times they meant it and actually did it, and the one time that Isak needed saving the most Even couldn’t make it there in time.

 

A hand on his knee brings him back to the present. “Sorry. It’s just-”

 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” Stan nods understandingly, and for a moment it feels like more than just an empathetic affirmation. It feels like an agreement, like an apology of some sort but for what Even’s not really sure.

 

Regardless, Even finds himself repeating the old man. “No, it wasn’t. And now I’m alone in a completely new way, and our friend, Eva, she has a three-month-old baby who’s going to grow up without a father. They named her after them, Noelle Isabell, and all that little girl has is her mother and a bunch of grieving but really fucking good uni students to be her family all because a fucking door jammed and her daddy was one of the best men that I’ve ever met. He died trying to save my baby, and now I can’t figure out how to look at that happy little girl and not feel guilty.”

 

“It’s not your fault.”

 

“I should have been there,” Even spits out, repeating the same words he’s been saying for a year now, tainted with venom and resentment. So many should of’s and shouldn’t have’s surround his mind until he feels like he’s suffocating. What probably makes everything worse is that he’s glad Jonas was in the building to some degree so that his boy didn’t have to go through that completely alone. He likes to think they took care of each other, that they got the door to open and maybe believed they were going to make it out. The alternative is just too heart wrenching for him to even contemplate.  

 

“I need to ask you something, Even,” Stan says slowly, leaning into Even’s space and speaking each word as though it holds a serious weight, like it contains a power capable of destroying the world. “If you could move forward, go somewhere better where you didn’t have to experience this pain, would you do that or would you choose to go back and do it all over again?”

 

Even’s eyebrows shoot up before they furrow in his confusion. “What?”

 

“Would you do it again or would you change it? I don’t mean the outcome, just the,” he waves his hand, “events that led up to it, so to speak.”

 

He’s so fucking confused, but there’s something there in the crypticness of Stan’s words that isn’t sitting right with Even. Like at all. It feels like he’s asking him something pivotal, something that would change things in a drastic way, and sure he would love to say that he would choose the option that would make things hurt less, but he knows deep down that whatever is being asked, no matter the question, the implications, or the end results, there’s only one thing he would ever choose. He’d choose it over and over in any universe.

 

“Isak,” he whispers, a tear slipping from one blue eye as he says the name that’s always on the tip of his tongue, savoring the way it tastes. “I’d go back to Isak.”

 

“Even after experiencing this, knowing how it feels when it ends?” Stan clarifies, bending his head down to trap Even’s eyes with his own, blue meeting an odd purplish color that Even hadn’t noticed when Stan had his glasses on. “You would still go back to Isak?”

 

“I’d go back to Isak,” Even states with conviction. “I’ll always go back to Isak. I don’t care how it ends, how it feels. I’d go back to Isak.”

 

“Ok, then,” Stan replies, a small smile playing at the edge of his mouth. He’s trying to fight it, but he looks pleased, like on a deep fundamental level he approves of Even’s decision. The purple of his eyes is expanding from a light tinting to something brighter and of richer color, the flecks spreading out to fill his irises seamlessly. But it doesn’t stop there, no it continues to diffuse throughout his eyes until even the whites are covered, both of his eyes nothing but glowing purple orbs.

 

Even feels his own vision start to blur, the edges of his periphery becoming blurry, shimmering every time he tries to make his eyes focus on something. The feeling spreads to his ears, where a hollow sound like his ears are full of cotton slowly transforms into a high pitch ringing.

 

He’s not sure, but before he passes out in the cold snow on the side of the street, he swears he hears that deep voice say one more thing, “Sometimes we right our wrongs.”

 

**

 

Sometimes we right our wrongs.

 

The words bounce around inside his head with intense clarity until he stutters awake, breath catching in his throat. For the first time in a long time, he feels a little relieved to be awake. A strange lavender glow had pervaded all of his dreams, burning the backs of his eyelids as they raced against his rapidly moving eyes.

 

If it’s possible, he feels more tired than he did when he went to bed… expect he can’t remember going to bed. Can’t remember going home at all actually. The last memory he can pinpoint from the day before is talking to Stan on the street, his strange questions and out of place sorrow followed by the consumption of his eyes to the odd color that seemed to radiate out of his being.

 

Did he sleep in the street last night?

 

A quick feel of the surface beneath him and the fact that his body isn’t aching like he spent hours lying on frozen concrete tells him that he is in fact in a bed, and when he finally ventures to open his eyes he finds his own ceiling complete with water stains above his head.

 

There’s a warm weight resting on his chest and when he glances down, all the air is knocked out of his body. Lying half on top of him is a boy that he never thought he’d see again, at least not in the flesh. Yet, here he is, warm and alive, breath fanning out across Even’s bare chest, his heart beating a rhythm against Even’s ribcage, adjacent to his own heart.

 

He can feel himself starting to panic, that thrum of adrenaline rushing through his veins, and he has to actively swallow it down. Now is not the time to freak out- when is the time then? he thinks idly- now is the time to catalogue. After Isak passed, his therapist had told him to go through the facts in his mind when he woke up to help him sort through the jumble of thoughts, halting the inevitable panic as reality pounded into him like waves against the beach, relentless and unforgiving.

 

Normally, this cataloguing starts with small things- like where he is, what the date is, the fact that he’s awake- and slowly builds up- Isak loves me- to the devastating- Isak is dead. That being said, he’s not really sure where he’s supposed to start today since the last few items on his list are being contradicted quite heavily by the boy sleeping soundly on his chest. Square one still seems like as good a place as any, though, considering this could still be a dream. So, step one it is: verify that he is awake.

 

To do that, he goes with a timeless classic, pinching himself. Considering his left arm is currently going numb underneath Isak’s body, he goes for the skin along his side. It’s probably fleshier than his arm anyway, leaving ample space to actually do the pinching. The only problem is that apparently Isak’s arm is thrown across his waist, so instead of pinching himself, Even accidentally pinches his potentially resurrected boyfriend, causing him to snuffle a little against Even and mumble a sleepy “what the hell, Ev.”

 

And that’s it. That’s all it takes to bypass the neutral numbness he’d been trying to rock and go straight into hardcore panic mode. It’s a 0 to 60 he knows, but he hasn’t heard that voice in a fucking year and it sounds just as beautiful as it did then, especially when it’s sleep soft and fond saying his name. The world shifts a little for Even, like when you’re sitting in the dunk tank waiting for someone to hit the stupidly small target with a ball and then suddenly you’re in cold water struggling to right yourself.

 

Isak must sense the shift because just as quickly as Even’s chest starts to constrict Isak’s there, propped up on his elbows, hands cupping Even’s cheeks as he tells him to breathe. “It’s ok, baby. I’m here and you’re ok. Just breathe for me, breathe with me, ok?” he encourages, gently taking one of Even’s limp hands and placing it on his chest over his heart. Isak places his own hand on top of it, threading their fingers together lovingly, allowing Even to match his heartbeat.

 

He continues to tell Even that he’s there with him, and it’s only once his breathing starts to even out again that he realizes that he’s been saying it himself between gasps.

 

“There we go,” Isak praises, nuzzling his nose against Even’s. Tears sting his eyes immediately, but he forces himself into action, rubbing his own nose back against Isak’s with enough love for an entire year, an entire lifetime honestly considering Even never thought he would be able to do this again. Hearing Isak say “we” is probably the only thing that could top it. He said it like it wasn’t just Even who was struggling, like they were in this together, like they always were.

 

When Isak makes a move to pull back, a wounded, scared noise escapes Even’s throat. Shooting forward, he chases Isak, capturing his lips with his own. Coming home is what it feels like, and despite the tears falling down his cheeks and the gut-wrenching sob that shakes his frame along with Isak’s, Even can’t stop himself from licking into Isak’s mouth, reveling in the slightly chapped silkiness of his lips and tongue gliding against his own.

 

He still tastes like Isak, still feels like Isak under his hands when he moves one to grasp onto his hip and the other to hold his jaw, sliding it over his cheek and pulling his mouth open to further deepen the kiss. The only explanation for the memories not having faded but for a little is a miracle, or maybe it’s his devotion to this boy currently trembling in his arms. Even’s not really sure that he cares what the reason is. Isak’s here now. He’s here now and Even finally feels like the air entering his body is actually reaching his lungs for once.

 

“Even, Ev,” Isak pants underneath him, hair haloed out on the grey-blue duvet as Even straddles his hips, kissing down his neck hungrily. Hearing his name again, however, has him freezing. He pulls back enough to look down at Isak, his green eyes shining with confusion and lust for him. “Baby, what’s going on?”

 

“I just-” He runs a hand through his hair, tousling it further, and sits back on Isak’s thighs, allowing his boy to sit up as well and move back into his space. “You were dead, Isak. You were dead and I couldn’t take it, Issy. It felt worse than anything, like I’d lost a limb or something. A part of me was gone and I couldn’t feel my heart because you were dead.”

 

His voice is basically nonexistent by the end of his tirade but Isak hears him regardless- he was always able to hear Even, even when he didn’t say anything out loud. His eyes are as big as saucers as he lunges forward to kiss Even quickly, reassuringly. “It was just a nightmare. I’m not dead, Even. I’m right here with you where I’m supposed to be. I’m not going anywhere either, ok?” he says, knocking his forehead against Even’s. “You’re stuck with me Bech Næsheim.”

 

“That’s not a bad thing to be,” he teases, but it still sounds shaky and unsure. “Do you remember when you said we could stay in your room together forever?”

 

Isak hums, eyes softening as he thinks back to that first day they spent together smoking and kissing. “Do you want to do that now?”

 

“Can I?”

 

“You can,” Isak says, arranging their bodies so they’re lying beneath the duvet, “We can.” Even clings to Isak like a sailor who found his shore after months marooned at sea. He brushes some stray hairs back from Even’s forehead before leaning down to press a lingering kiss there. “I love you,” he tells him, engraving the words into his skin.

 

“I love you, too,” Even breathes fiercely, pressing a kiss over Isak’s beating heart, feeling his own heart start to beat again now that its home has returned to him as he uses his lips to carve his love into Isak. “I love you so fucking much, baby, you have no idea.”   

 

**

 

He's not sure how much time has passed- could be mere minutes or hours they’ve spent in their little cocoon, cuddled together in a mess of tangled limbs and long, reassuring kisses- when it finally hits him and he shoots upright, nearly knocking Isak in the chin in his haste.

 

“Jonas!”

 

“Should I be offended that you’re thinking about Jonas while you’re in bed with me or-?” Isak asks, completely at ease. He’s lying on his back, strewn across the bed, his hair a disheveled mess spread wildly on the pillow. The pale baby blue of the sheets compliments the flush of his skin perfectly, and Even’s not one to brag but he’s pretty sure that he’s safe in saying that this is the most beautiful sight to ever grace the earth. Forget a snack, Isak is a full five course meal complete with expensive wine and those little mints they put in the to-go bag.

 

“No,” Even laughs. “It’s just that, well, Jonas didn’t make it either. In the dream.”

 

Isak’s eyebrows fly up. He reaches forward, wrapping his thin fingers around Even’s wrist. “Jonas was dead too?” Isak blows out of huff of air, flopping back onto the pillows and staring at the ceiling. “Damn, babe, that’s a lot. But, hey,” he says, sitting up and bumping his shoulder against Even’s, leaning into his side, “we’re ok. It really was just a dream. If you want, though, we could clean up, go over there. You can see him for yourself.”

 

“Yeah, that sounds nice,” Even answers. Isak’s always been able to see what Even needs even when he himself can’t. It’s a trait that Even’s always been grateful for.

 

“Ok, cool,” Isak says, rubbing his hands together, “cool, cool, cool. I call first shower.” And with that he’s slipping off the bed and making his way to the bathroom, shedding his sweats off before he’s even all the way through the doorway.  

 

Hearing the shower turn on from the other room is a fucking experience and a half. For some reason, this is the thing that stands out as definitive proof that Isak is, in fact, real. If this was all in Even’s head, then the shower wouldn’t be on right now. He’s had enough experience to know that.

 

 

All of those mornings he woke up in a haze thinking Isak was somehow back with him, they all ceased to exist the moment Isak left the room. In the beginning, he chalked it up to grief, too many memories, an overactive imagination. Everything. Nothing.

 

But after a while- and maybe it was the hopeless romantic part of his subconscious-, he started to wonder if maybe he was getting glimpses of Isak, a peek into what could have been or possibly even a parallel universe. Isak’s spirit returning home, visiting him to make sure he didn’t lose his mind, to tell him that he was ok wherever he was. There was more comfort in that than anything else anyone tried to console him with.

 

Hopping up himself, Even makes his way over to the bathroom. When his foot brushes against Isak’s discarded sweats, he feels the softness of the material against the side of his foot. He drops his own black sweatpants beside Isak’s and calls it poetic cinema as they form a blob of art.

 

As he pulls the yellow shower curtain aside, Isak blinks at him, clearly not having expected to be interrupted. He doesn’t complain, though, just lets Even join him under the near scalding water. His hair instantly mats to his forehead, but that’s the last thing on his mind as he reaches for his boy, brushing his hair back and settling his hand on Isak’s neck while his other hand rests on Isak’s hip, using it to reel him in. Just the feel of Isak’s wet skin sliding against Even’s palms is enough to center him, calm the scratch niggling the back of his mind the second Isak was out of view.

 

“I can shower by myself you know.”

 

“I know. I just-”

 

“I get it,” Isak soothes, smoothing the worry lines in Even’s forehead with his finger. “If it was me, I don’t think I’d let you out of my sight either. I’d probably find a way to chemically stick us together permanently. Maybe get our molecules to go through osmosis or some shit.”

 

“That doesn’t sound half bad,” Even hums, if possible sliding even closer to Isak. “I wouldn’t mind being connected to you.”

 

They’re skin glides together easily as Even backs them up under the spray of water. Droplets get stuck to Isak’s impossibly long eye lashes as he blinks, giving Even no choice but to run the tips of his fingers over them like the wings of a butterfly. Isak’s fingers, tangled in the hair at the nape of Even’s neck, tap out a disjointed rhythm as he pulls Even forward, sealing their lips together.

 

It’s all heat and water and slip-slide as they work their mouths together.

 

A groan is punched out of Even when Isak licks over the plushness of his lips, prying his mouth open so their tongues can meet together in a dirty little dance that has Even pressing Isak into the shower wall behind them and pushing a thigh between Isak’s trembling legs. Isak gasps when Even grinds his hips forward in a filthy little corkscrew motion, the water collecting on their skin causing them to slide so their half-hard cocks grind together, applying a delicious friction.  

 

“Science always did make you horny,” Even teases, continuing to rock his hips against Isak’s until they’re both aching with desire. Even’s blood boils, his veins singe.  

 

“Nah, that’s all- ah- that’s all you,” Isak replies with a wink, grinding his hips down against Even’s thigh where it’s pressed between the heat of his legs.

 

Even rolls his eyes fondly in response- something he picked up from Isak- and licks a stripe up Isak’s neck before sealing his lips over Isak’s adams apple, sucking a bruise into his skin with nipping bites and kitten licks. Isak tilts his head back against the tile, exposing the pale length of his neck for Even, giving him permission to take whatever he wants. It’s vulnerable and intimate and Even doesn’t think it’s possible for a stronger love to exist.  

 

Isak whines when Even moves back to admire his handiwork, pulling at his hair and trying to drag him back down to his neck. Even licks over the purple mark blooming beautifully on Isak’s skin one last time, following it up with the gentlest of kisses before licking into Isak’s mouth.

 

“Shh,” he soothes him, pressing their lips together once, twice, three times in quick succession. “I’ve got you, love,” he whispers, getting lost in the burning vortex of Isak’s eyes like being sucked into the eye of a hurricane. Moving down, Even kisses Isak’s chin, seals his lips over the bolt of Isak’s jaw, sucks his ways down Isak’s shoulder and chest. Every kiss leaves a smattering of water droplets and saliva in the shape of Even’s mouth, proof of Even’s devotion etched into Isak’s very skin like a road map that leads right back to his heart.  

 

Isak’s fingers scrabble uselessly against the shower wall as Even sinks lower. His hips positively shoot off the tile when Even bites the flesh above his thigh, his fingers digging into the dips of Isak’s hips, tracing the delicate shape of the v that Even loves so much. God bless the gym for giving it to him.

 

“Even,” Isak gasps. “Babe.” His fingers tangle in Even’s hair pulling just enough that Even can feel the tingles shoot down his spine to his dick.

 

“I’m here,” Even says, knocking his knuckles against Isak’s, who instantly twists their fingers together, squeezing tightly like Even’s hand is a lifeboat and he’s drowning in the ocean. Even knows the feeling, squeezes back just as tightly as he rests his head against Isak’s hip as the onslaught of emotion slams into him.

 

“You’re here,” Isak confirms, squeezing Even’s fingers. “I’m here too,” he says like he knows Even needs the confirmation, which he does.  

 

When he looks up, Isak is watching him with a look of adoration and amazement. His chest is the Britannica gardens, flushed and heaving, covered in the red and purple flowers Even decorated him in. But it’s Isak’s eyes that do him in. They’re so blown wide they’re practically black, a small ring of green circling them like the rings of Jupiter, and Even feels himself getting sucked into their orbit like an astronaut without a cord. Even doesn’t want to go back to his ship, though. He wants to sink into everything that Isak is.      

 

Isak is a religion, a holy relic. Even sinks to his knees, ready to worship at the altar of his church.  

 

**

 

Emerging from the bathroom freshly clean, Even pulls on a pair of boxers- probably Isak’s considering the band is dark blue and the fabric is lavender- and the closest pair of clean jeans he can find. He doesn’t even bother buttoning them right now. Instead, he grabs his phone, intending on letting Jonas and Eva know that they’re coming over soon.   

 

When the screen lights up, hot panic shoots up Even’s spine like pulling the ripcord on a hot air balloon, and all of his energy goes into not crumpling to the hard wood floor.

 

 If this was a scene he was directing, he can imagine using a slow zoom in, panning from his face down to the phone screen where the camera steadily gets closer and closer to the date looming in the upper corner of his lockscreen just over the picture of Isak drawing a fog heart on the KB window for him. Maybe he’d add some music too to heighten the effect of suspense, something like a dramatic violin melody. He’d probably pair that with a little distortion to the lens to give the audience that feeling of being off-kilter, thrown off balance and struggling to get righted again, not that he needs the special effect, though, his mind is taking care of that one for him.

 

Because it’s March 9, 2018. Fucking March 9th 2018 also known as the worst day of Even’s life. Expect it makes no sense, none. This can’t be possible because that would mean that he had someone traveled back in time a whole freaking year, which means…

 

Isak’s not here because everything’s fine. He’s here because nothing’s gone to shit yet.

 

The realization settles like cement in his stomach, keeping him grounded in this moment when all he wants to do is find some way to transcend, to fly away from it all. Hell, he would even take being able to just fall to his knees. He feels like screaming, like crying, like hitting something until it breaks just like his heart.

 

Instead, he stands there. Late morning sun streaming through the partly opened curtains, creating a barrier that divides their bedroom in half- one part bright and warm, flakes of dust swirling around in the golden glow, the other side cast into shadow. Even’s cut perfectly in two by it, dancing on the precipice of light and dark as his mind struggles to find some semblance of sense while simultaneously pushing everything to the back of his mind.

 

No matter how hard he tries, the old man’s words from yesterday keep creeping to the front of his mind, repeating themselves over and over. Would he do it all over again, would he go back to this day actively knowing how it was going to end. That was what he had essentially asked him, and what had Even said? Yes. He agreed to come back here, to experience his boyfriend dying again. Only in a more hands on way this time around since he already knows what’s coming.  

 

It’s too much. Too much to ask of him, too much for him to deal with. Out of the question really. How is he supposed to do this? It’s not like someone wrote a manual on how to deal with your boyfriend being resurrected for a day only to leave again like a wisp of smoke succumbing to a strong breeze. He can’t. He won’t.

 

Just the thought of living through it all again brings forth memories of when he was a kid and would always pick with the scabs on his knees until they were seared open and bloody. Back then, his mom would cover the wound in Neosporin and place a kiss to the top of his bandage. Something tells him that won’t be enough this time. There’s not enough ointment in the world to soothe the ache of ripping these scars open again.

 

Yet, when he opens his eyes to the phantom image of shimmering violet eyes, he knows that it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing in the universe that can compete with Isak. Nothing that holds even half of the radiance of his light for Even, and he wasn’t lying when he told Stan that he would always go back to him. No matter the consequences, he would always go back to his boy, will always go back to him.

 

Sure, the ending is going to hurt like hell, but that doesn’t mean that he can’t enjoy the fall. Like an angel falling from heaven, he’s going to take in all the sights that he possibly can before he hits the ground. Fire from his wings won’t be an omen. It’ll just be a flashlight, something to better illuminate his world. This is a blessing, a gift; he has no intention of wasting it. So, he’s going to put up cement walls in his mind and live today like tomorrow doesn’t exist.

 

In fact, he’s going to give Isak everything, every last little piece of reservation that lingered in his heart. All of those things he’d never gotten a chance to say, he’s going to say them. When it’s all said and done, Isak will be so filled with love that when he finally drifts off to his little corner of heaven it will outshine all of the others. Their love will crack the very foundations of heaven. Not even God himself will know what to do with the radiance.

 

All he has to do is be here, something he’s had plenty of practice with by now. Minute by minute.

 

“Alright, Stan. Let’s make this one count for something.”

 

“Did you say something?” Isak asks, walking into the room with a towel around his waist, which is basically just for show because he never actually dries off with them. That’s confirmed a moment later when he starts pulling on his jeans, the denim sticking to his legs where they’re still dripping with water. A halo rings around his hair where the sunlight lazily kisses the drying tips of his curls.

 

When he finally gets his jeans up and buttoned, he walks over to Even and drapes himself across his back. His skin sticks to Even’s where he’s still damp but Even doesn’t really mind. It’s a step closer to that osmosis thing Isak was talking about earlier. “What’s got you so distracted, sweetheart?” he asks, pressing a kiss to Even’s shoulder blade and tucking his chin in the juncture between Even’s neck and shoulder.

 

“Just thinking about you,” Even grits out. His voice sounds distant, like he’s listening to it at the end of a very long, dark tunnel. It would be so easy to let that darkness consume him, to just give in and close himself off from everything. But that’s not an option here, not when he can feel the press of Isak’s skin against his own, feel the beat of his heart just behind his. After all this time, they still beat in sync.  

 

Isak hums, a soft, pleased sound that vibrates through Even everywhere their bodies are connected. “What about me?” he asks.

 

The answer is as instantaneous as ever, “How much I love you.”

 

“Mmm. You’re a sap.” Isak nuzzles his nose in the wet hair curling behind Even’s ear, following the gentle touch with a line of sweet kisses. This boy. His soft, sweet boy.

 

“You’re one to talk,” Even quips, turning around in Isak’s arms. For his part, Isak seems to appreciate the change in momentum, taking the moment to press closer to Even before darting forward to peck his lips.

 

Isak sighs into his mouth and Even takes a moment to just breathe him in. He absorbs as much of Isak as he can- the feel of his lips against his own, the softness of his hair curling around his fingers, the pliant way his skin molds to Even’s, the gentle thrum of his heart that registers like a jackhammer in Even’s mind.

 

This is his heaven. This is the part of Isak that will live with him forever, burn inside his heart like the embers of a coal that continue to sizzle long after the fire’s faded out.

 

Pulling back, Even searches Isak’s eyes. “You know that, right? That I love you.”

 

“You know, I think I might’ve heard that somewhere before.” The teasing smile that graces Isak’s lips is enough to make Even’s heart stutter. “Of course, I do,” he breathes on a little huff of laughter as though the thought of Even doing anything else is ludicrous. To be fair, it kind of is.

 

Even captures Isak’s hand in his own and brings it up to his lips. He takes another moment to just soak Isak in, warm, happy, alive- something that photos and videos can never recreate or capture completely. Leave it to him to fall in love with someone as elusive as a sunset.

 

Taking a deep breath, he exhales slowly through his nose. “We should probably get going,” but he makes no move to pull away, instead rubbing his thumb back and forth over the back of Isak’s hand.

 

Eventually, Isak pulls back with a final squeeze to Even’s finger as he slowly disentangles them. Their fingertips stay connected for a moment- Isak brushing the tips of his fingers over Even’s in a weird little dance that only Isak could make adorable- before he moves to their closet to dig them out shirts. Of course, closet is kind of a loose term since it’s more of a pile of clean clothes tossed on spare chair in the wardrobe, wrinkling together behind the closed door. It’s all good, though. Out of sight out of mind, or whatever, something that never quite works when it comes to his thoughts about Isak. At least the dirty clothes actually make it into a hamper in the corner.

 

Something soft hits him square in the chest and he just has enough time to grab onto the shirt sleeve before it hits the ground. Glancing up again, he’s met with Isak’s smug look complete with cocked eyebrow and everything.

 

“Is this your way of saying you want me to cover up?” he asks with a teasing half-wink-blink of his own.

 

Isak rolls his eyes fondly. “Yes, that is absolutely my goal. Banish that hideousness from my sight,” he says, waving his hand in the air over Even’s bare chest. The laugh Isak gets for that one bounces off the walls, filling some of the hollow spots that he thought were irreparable. Even’s missed every second of this.

 

Before he can even blink, Even pulls the shirt from Isak’s hands and replaces it with the one his boyfriend had tossed to him, slipping the faded tee over his head before Isak can change them back. It’s just that he needs the comfort of being surrounded by Isak entirely- his smell, his warmth, all of it- and if he wants to give the same to Isak through his own wrinkled shirt, then sue him. He might even complete the ensemble by wrapping Isak in the maroon hoodie lying across the end of their bed.  

 

“Hey,” Isak calls, slipping the swapped-out shirt on, making his hair puff up in all directions. “You know I love you too.”

 

The words are like a shot of helium, filling him up until he feels like he can float. “Even when I can’t be sure of anything,” he says, “I am always sure of that.”

 

**

 

“Hey.” Isak bumps his shoulder gently against Even’s, pulling his attention away from where he had been staring at their joined hands resting together on top of Isak’s thigh. He’s not sure how long he’s been out of it, but when Even looks up, he catches a glimpse of the passing street out the window and notes that they’re over half way to Jonas and Eva’s. Last time he checked, the tram had barley traveled three blocks from the stop where they got on.

 

“Are you okay?” Isak asks him, and his eyes are so soft that Even could cry. Even colored with worry, they shine a brilliant, captivating green like vines of ivy stretching from the depths of his soul to wrap around Even’s very being, covering him in a delicate layer of warmth. Isak’s eyes have always been like a beacon, like Even’s own personal compass, showing him the way back home when he’s lost. The first time he used that shimmering hue to find his way back to himself, Even thought about The Great Gatsby, about the green light cutting through the fog across the water directing Gatsby back to Daisy. That’s what Isak is to Even: a light powerful enough to shatter through any darkness.

 

Isak cocks his head to the side, eyebrows shooting up in concern, and Even realizes that he asked him something. He shakes his head to clear it. “I’m fine,” he says attempting a smile small to add some credibility to the statement. It misses the mark by a mile, however, because the words come out sounding grated and raw, almost like he’d been gargling broken shards of glass.

 

If possible, Isak’s eyebrows go up even higher. He looks worried and unnerved. Even knows the feeling.

 

Clearing his throat, he tries again. “I’m fine.” He gives Isak’s fingers a light squeeze, bringing their joined hands up to his mouth and pressing the softest of kisses against the back of Isak’s hand, the cold of his skin mingling with the heat of Even’s lips and creating a little barrier of moisture. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

 

“What about?” Isak questions, turning further on the seat and scooting closer until he’s practically in Even’s lap, one of his legs thrown over Even’s, the other bouncing lightly up against his knees. There’s a woman openly watching them across the aisle, but Even could honestly give a fuck less because Isak’s running his fingers through Even’s hair, tucking a stray strand behind his ear and flashing him a timid, gap-toothed smile that almost stops his heart.

 

They’re completely twisted up together, and it makes Even feel dizzy because he’d forgotten how Isak did this. How he always knew when Even got too caught up in his own mind, how Isak would throw himself into him without restraint, how he could make Even feel like he was both falling apart and becoming whole at the same time. He has to shut his eyes against the onslaught of emotion being pounded into his body like a sledgehammer, but he still catches a small kiss against the inside of Isak’s wrist when he pulls his hand back to cup his cheek.

 

“Tell me what’s going on in here, baby.” Isak taps his finger against Even’s temple, gently knocking their foreheads together. “What’s eating at you, hmm? It’s not still the dream is it? Because it was just a dream, Ev, I’m right here. I’m ok, and I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon.”

 

But you will, Even wants to scream, you will because you won’t have a choice, and it’s fucked up and it’s not fair but this is all we have and I can’t even give that to you because I keep staring at your hands and your face and your eyes and it’s scaring you, but I can’t stop because this is the only chance I’m going to get to see you like this.

 

But he lets the words continue to shred apart his insides, instead choosing to say something safer, something close to the truth but still far enough away that Isak will be ok. After all, didn’t Even decide to live today like everything was normal in order to give Isak a nice last day? “It felt real,” he bites out, fighting against the stinging sensation building behind his eyelids.

 

Isak hums in understanding, or maybe it’s sympathy. Even can’t really decipher the sound anymore, and it feels like being dropped in a tub of ice water to realize just how much of Isak his mind had repressed to protect itself in the span of a year.

 

“I can’t imagine what that must’ve felt like,” Isak begins, rubbing his thumb soothingly over Even’s cheek, “I don’t know what I would do if I thought I’d lost you. But I know the fear of losing you, and if it’s anything like that…” He cuts himself off, looking at the passing buildings out the window behind them for a moment. The sound of his shaky exhale makes Even finally open his eyes, taking in the love of his life. Isak doesn’t continue, though, he just gives a little exasperated laugh and shakes his head with a shrug as though he doesn’t have the capacity to even comprehend how it would feel for him to lose Even.

 

And maybe in a twisted and sick kind of way that’s the silver lining here. If Isak goes first, then he won’t have to ever feel what Even’s felt for the past year, what he’s about to relive all over again in a few hours. Even’s happy to take it all on himself to spare Isak.   

 

“Just tell me that they’re all together no matter what. That the things that happen in one universe won’t affect the others.” He knows it probably sounds crazy, but he just needs to know that no matter what happens later tonight that Isak is alive somewhere, that he’s with his Even and they’re living in blissful unawareness.

 

“Of course, they don’t,” Isak reassures, and Even’s pretty sure that he gets exactly what Even’s asking him. “Nothing that happens here influences any other universe and vice versa. The only thing that’s consistent is us. You and me,” he says, bumping his nose against Even’s, “we’re together everywhere. And we’re gonna keep being together everywhere, even in those weird parallel universes where we’re not even people but like I’m a hedgehog and you’re a racoon, or, I don’t know, the fucking wind or something. We’re in love even when there is no such thing as love.”

 

He shrugs helplessly, like that’s all there is to it, like that’s just the way it is, like it’s a given fact that can’t be unwritten or changed that every Isak has an Even and every Even has an Isak. No matter the circumstances or hurdles thrown at them, they will always find a way to love each other.      

 

Somehow it feels like everything and nothing at all.

 

**     

 

As soon as the door opens, Jonas is assaulted with an armful of cold, snow damp Even.

 

“Woah! Jeez, bro. What’s going on?”

 

“Nothing,” Even sniffs, pulling out of the embrace much too soon for his liking, but it would probably be considered weird if he wrapped Jonas and his boyfriend in bubble wrap and blankets and just… wallowed on them all day.

 

So, he settles for putting his hands on Jonas’ shoulders with a squeeze. “I just really missed you, man.”

 

And how is he actually on the brink of crying again? By the sheer volume of tears he’s cried today you’d think he would be out of water, his body nothing more than a dried up desert.

 

“You missed me. Really? We just saw each other last night.” Jonas cuts his eyes over to Isak who just shrugs and wiggles through the doorway, not keen on sharing Even’s story for him. “Alright then,” he laughs, closing the door and turning back to Even. Tossing his arm around Even’s shoulders, he steers them down the entrance hall after Isak. “Magnus must be rubbing off on you if you missed me that much after just one night. Better watch out Issy, I think you may have some competition.”

 

“What from you,” Isak scoffs, barley even sparing the pair a glance as he takes up residency on the arm of the sofa where Eva’s curled up.

 

“No from me,” Eva retorts, dropping her arm from the back of the couch and shoving Isak’s legs; he almost slides off but catches himself at the last minute, tossing Eva a glare which she happily returns. “Don’t look at me like that. I warned you a long time ago that if anybody’s coming to steal your man, it’s gonna be me.”

 

Isak huffs.

 

“Aww, don’t be sad, Isak,” Jonas teases, letting go of Even to ruffle his hair, “You’ll still have me.”

 

Isak stares at him appraisingly. “Guess I could do worse,” he sniffs haughtily, causing Eva to break out in giggles while Jonas rears back in offense.

 

“Excuse you! I am a treasure. You on the other hand,” Jonas points his finger at him for emphasis, “you’re just lucky that Even puts up with you.”

 

Isak sneers at him, sticking out his tongue. “Well excuse you, bitch, but it just so happens that Even loves me. Right, babe?” He turns to Even- who up until this point had been content to just watch the exchange happen from his spot on the couch next to Isak’s perch- and starts running his fingers through Even’s hair, twisting a few stray curls around his index finger.

 

“More than the moon and stars,” he confirms, pulling one of Isak’s legs up from the sofa beside him and placing a kiss on the top of his socked foot.

 

Isak, more than pleased by this answer, beams at him. He slides his other foot into Even’s lap, letting them rest on his thighs, and turns his attention back to Jonas, who clearly doesn’t think Even’s testimonial should count. Something about biased results, which of course sets them off on sample sizes and other complicated things that Even isn’t really in the mood to decipher.  

 

**

 

He’s not really sure where he loses track of the conversation after that. Regardless, it doesn’t really matter. Their voices are like a warm summer breeze. Their laughter a ripple of water caressing and licking at his fingertips. Even his most realistic dreams can never live up to this.

 

At some point, Isak slid down and wedged himself into the little gap of space between the sofa arm and Even, his feet planted on the other side of Even’s legs while Isak’s own legs rest lightly against Even’s chest. It’s nice, being entirely wrapped up, covered by Isak.

 

Absentmindedly, he plays with Isak’s fingers, drawing shapes on the back of his hand. Sometimes he pauses in his ministrations to spell out a word or two, watching as Isak’s eyes bounce between him, Jonas and Eva, and their joined hands, concentrating on a million things at once. As soon as he deciphers the message, he traces a response onto the skin of Even’s palm. Every so often, Isak lightly pinches the skin between Even’s thumb and index finger between his own, massaging gently in a way that Even just knows would be a kiss if Isak brought their hands up to his mouth.

 

He’s so caught up in Isak, so drunk on the touches from his sweet boy, that he almost misses the lull in the conversation going on around him. When he looks up, everyone’s staring at him as if waiting for him to speak.

 

“Sorry, what?”

 

“I’m going to make some tea and was wondering if anyone else wanted some,” Eva fills him in.

 

 “Oh. Um, yeah, sure I’ll take some. Let me help you,” he says, untangling himself from Isak and brushing a kiss against his forehead as he stands up.

 

He’d been meaning to talk to Eva alone anyway to figure out if she knows anything or not. Maybe she’s in the same situation as him. Afterall, she was affected by this day in the same way he was. If anyone else might know what’s going on, might be reliving the day over again too, it would be her.

 

Also, Isak has a weird thing about tea. Unable to make it himself, he only trusts certain people to be able to make it the way he likes, namely Even and his mother, and for some unknown reason Sana, even though he never fails to ask whether it’s poisoned whenever she hands it to him.

 

By the time he makes it into the kitchen, Eva’s already got the tea kettle heating on the stove and is rooting through the cupboards to locate the flavored tea bags and honey. Unsure of how to start, Even busies himself pulling out the coffee mugs. The fact that they’re in the dishwasher instead of hanging up on the cup rack serves as further proof that, yes, this is happening. Where Even came from, two of the four cups haven’t been used let alone put in a dishwasher for months.

 

Lining the cups up on the counter with a gentle clink, Even takes a deep breath and clears his throat. “Hey Eva, have you um-” he winces, beginning to drum his fingers on the granite counter top as he tries to configure the best way to phrase what he wants to ask. “Does today seem… odd to you at all?”

 

“Odd to me,” she repeats, hopping up on the counter, her feet dangling. She holds her hands out to him and he walks forward taking them into his own. “In what way?” she asks, patting the spot beside her in invitation for him to join her on the counter top, which he does.

 

“In a way like… Ok, it’s like this,” he pulls a leg up and turns to look at her more fully, “when I woke up this morning, it felt like I’d… been here before. Like I had already lived through this day.”

 

“Like déjà vu?”

 

“No. Well, yes, sort of, but it’s more than that. I don’t know how to explain it without sounding like I’m crazy.”

 

“I would never think you’re crazy,” Eva says in a rush, grabbing his hand and pulling it into her lap in reassurance. “None of us would ever think that.”

 

He smiles at her gratefully, a wave of affection rolling over him. “Thanks.”

 

“Maybe it’s like. Ok, so once when I was little- like 5 or 6- I had a dream that I was in a car accident. Woke up screaming in the middle of the night. Scared the shit out of my mom,” she lets out a little laugh. “The next day, I was terrified to get in the car, walked to school I was so freaked out. It was back when my dad was still around, and he eventually convinced me to get in the car when he came to pick me up. I guess he had some meetings or something he couldn’t afford to miss just because his daughter was throwing a tantrum in the parking lot,” she shrugs, scratching her nose, “But anyway, we weren’t even driving for more than ten minutes before we were rear ended at a red light. The force of it pushed us into the intersection, and wouldn’t you know it, another car hit us side on. Flipped the car over.”

 

“Damn.”

 

She nods. “Yeah. I went through some stuff after that, was terrified of cars, couldn’t sleep properly for months because I was so convinced that whatever I dreamed would come true somehow.” Meeting his eyes, she asks, “Do you think that what you’re going through is something like that? You mentioned you felt it when you woke up, so maybe you had a dream that feels like a premonition or something?”

 

“God, I wish that was it,” he chuckles darkly, rubbing his hands over his face. A dream that just felt like a premonition would be a blessing compared to this. At least then he’d have a 50/50 chance of whether or not it would come true.   

 

“Either way, I’m sure that it’ll be fine,” she soothes, rubbing his arm. “Look at it this way, you’re talking to a girl who’s had about three premonition dreams in her life, and I have absolutely no bad feelings about today.” She wipes her hands over the air in front of her as if clearing the air of any negative things that might be coming, putting an invisible barrier between them and Even. “If that’s not a good sign, then I don’t know what is. How’s that for some reassurance.”

 

It doesn’t make any sense, though. Why doesn’t Eva remember anything from the past year? Why did Stan pick Even to bring back to this day when Eva lost just as much as him? When she deserves this chance just as much as he does with Isak?

 

He wishes it were all as simple as Isak and Eva make it out to be. That it was just a terrible, horrific nightmare that doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of things, but he can’t shake how real it felt. Even now, he can still feel the grief that racked his body, the cold ground by the library where he talked to Stan. He can still see the purple of his eyes, hear his words ringing in his ears. And he’s just about to tell Eva all this when the tea kettle begins to whistle, causing Eva to hop off the counter and slide across the floor to pull it off the stove.

 

Numbly, Even jumps to the ground as well, picking up the tea box beside him and plopping the bags in the bottom of the mugs for Eva to cover in the hot water. As he’s about to place the tea bag in her cup, Eva stops him with a hand on his wrist. Her nose is wrinkled in distaste and she looks a little paler than before.

 

“Are you alright?” he asks, taking a step in her direction, which she counters with a step back.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just,” she wrinkles her nose again, “the smell is kinda making me a little nauseous.”

 

Even looks down at the box in his hands, and instantly breaks into laughter when he reads the flavor because, yeah, he remembers the smell of Blueberry Chamomile tea making her sick throughout her pregnancy. “Sorry,” he chuckles, swiftly retrieving all of the tea bags and sealing them back inside the box. Scouring through the cupboard, he finds the box of peppermint tea and pulls it out instead, knowing that it’s probably the only flavor Eva’s sensitive stomach will be able to handle right now.

 

Already, she seems to be breathing a little easier, her complexion gaining its color back and her nose no longer scrunched. “Thanks. I have no idea what’s been going on lately. I think I might be catching a cold or something.”

 

“I don’t think you’re catching a cold,” Even chuckles, “It’s probably just a bit of morn- mold,” he quickly catches himself, spouting out the first thing that comes to mind, “Sometimes tea bags can gather mold spores, you know. My mom used to get sick from it all the time.”

 

Eva’s looking at him skeptically, but he can’t focus on anything other than the fact that he almost said morning sickness. He’d almost inadvertently told Eva that she was pregnant, something that he shouldn’t know yet considering that she doesn’t even know herself.

 

…And that’s when he realizes what a huge fucking idiot he is. All day he’s been living under the assumption that nothing has changed, that the day is doomed to repeat itself all over again, all the while missing the biggest freaking thing that’s been staring him in the face all day: himself.

 

He’s not the same Even from a year ago. For starters, he knows things. He knows about the fire, and not just in the sense that it’s going to happen, but in the nitty gritty sense that he knows where it’s going to happen. Most importantly, he knows when. All he has to do is keep Isak away from that deathtrap, make sure that he doesn’t step foot anywhere near it. After all, it’s impossible to die in an apartment fire when you’re not in the apartment to begin with.

 

He can’t believe how stupid he’s been, thinking that it was his duty to keep Isak as blissfully unaware as he could while also soaking up the last day of being with him like Isak is his water and Even’s a bone-dry sponge. Everything has already changed just by the simple fact that Even has the power to change it all- hasn’t he deviated from the events of last year already just by calling off work, being with Isak all day, coming here- and he’s not just going to lie down and let Isak die. He’s not going to let him die period. And if he plays his hand right, then maybe Jonas won’t have to die either.  

 

“You know, you could actually help me instead of staring at your boyfriend,” Eva teases behind him, cutting into his revelation. He hadn’t even noticed that he’d drifted over to the breakfast counter/room divider to watch Isak and Jonas.

 

“Of course, I could,” Even says, pulling the sugar out of the cabinet over his head. “But, where’s the fun in that?” he asks as he starts scooping sugar into the cups Eva’s already filled, amazed as always that he can remember how much to put in each one- three in the blue-gray flower cup for Eva, four in the white mug that says ‘you’ve been poisoned’ on the inside for Jonas, two in his own ‘put your lips all over me’ cup, and five in the Iron Man mug because Isak’s a freak who likes too much sugar. He always claims that tea is too bitter for his delicate sensibilities, and Even’s sure that’s part of it but he’s always pretty sure that Isak has ulterior motives involving the way Even’s tongue searches his mouth for the dissolved sweetness.

 

He still remembers the way Isak’s nose had scrunched in confusion when Even had given him the cup for Christmas, and how he’d shoved him before pulling him into a searing kiss when he’d explained the significance. Isak was a genius like Tony Stark, and he was Even’s hero.

 

For the first time since he had realized what day it was, Even actually feels like he’s breathing air on his own, like a man waking from a coma and having the breathing tubes removed or a guy spitting water from his lungs after almost drowning and being given CPR. It’s liberating.

 

Isak notices right away, accepting the steaming mug from Even with raised eyebrows. “You seem a lot happier.”

 

“How could I not be,” he smiles back, sliding back into his spot between Isak’s legs. “I’ve got you after all,” he says, pressing a wet kiss against Isak’s cheek, his jaw, his lips. Things are finally starting to fall into place.

 

**

 

Things continue going well as the lazy day turns into an impromptu movie night. They end up watching ‘The Shape of Water’ because it’s “a really epic love story” according to Eva, but Magnus, who showed up about an hour ago tagging along with Vilde, was all for it because “there’s supposed to be fish fucking or something.”

 

Overall, maybe not the best reason to watch a film, but regardless they’re all snuggled up on the sofa under about three different blankets and Even’s slowly starting to lose feeling in his arm from being mushed in the corner. He’s not even going to get started on the foot or knee or whatever the fuck it is that’s digging into his back trying to extricate his kidneys. They’re in a delicate system, one wrong move could upset the whole thing. Even shudder to think of where that foot could end up. So, when his phone starts vibrating in his pocket, it’s a god send.

 

He frees himself from the confines of the couch, pointing to his phone with a sheepish shrug and heading into the kitchen to answer it. Everyone’s attention diverts back to the screen quickly, but he still answers quietly so as not to disturb them. Jonas gets surprisingly bitchy when someone interrupts his shows. “Hei, mama.”

 

“Oh, Even, honey. I’m glad I caught you.” She sounds slightly out of breath, which instantly sets Even on edge seeing as this is around the time last year that she broke her arm tripping down some wet stairs at work. If that’s right, then she should be resting, not doing whatever it is that has her breathing funny.

 

“What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

 

“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine,” she says distractedly. “I just may have done something a little silly and could possibly use your help.”

 

Even props his hip against the counter, nearly sighing in relief when he feels his back pop. That couch was not designed to seat six people at the same time. “Of course, I’ll help. What’d’ya need?”

 

“Well, I went out to get some groceries, and I may be having some trouble getting them into the house, or getting in the house at all really.”

 

“Mama,” Even says, voice lilting up into a laugh, “are you locked out of the house?” After years of being nagged for doing exactly that, this is like a form of validation for him.

 

“No,” she huffs, “I am not ‘locked out of the house.’” Even can practically hear the air quotes. “I’m not twelve; I remembered to take my keys with me. It’s just a little hard to pull them out with an arm full of groceries, and I can’t exactly ask your father for help from Trondheim.”

 

She trails off, but Even catches a few mumbled phrases mostly consisting of “fucking ridiculous” and “this god damn sling.” Even clears his throat to hide a laugh.

 

“Alright, I’m on my way. Just try to relax before you burst an artery or something. I’ll be there in ten,” he says, hanging up and returning to the living room where he’s met with a pair of curious eyes.

 

“I’m gonna step out for a bit,” he whispers, leaning over the arm of the sofa to speak to Isak. “Mama needs my help with something.”

 

Isak nods in understanding. Wrapping his fingers around Even’s wrist, he replies just as quietly, “Do you want me to go with you?”

 

It’s a tempting offer, but Isak looks so cozy and comfortable. Plus, if he’s here, then Even doesn’t have to worry about something unforetold happening to him. He’s safe here, and Even feels firm enough in that knowledge that he can’t bring himself to accept.

 

“No, it’s nothing serious. Just gonna help with the groceries since dad’s outta town and her arm’s hurt. Shouldn’t be gone too long. But thank you for the offer, sweet boy,” he says, brushing Isak’s curls back and kissing his forehead. He feels warm.

 

“I’ll tell you how it ends,” Isak teases, as if they haven’t seen this film about three times already.

 

Mirth shines in his eyes, illuminated by the grainy light from the tv. He props himself up, an elbow on either side of Even’s hands on the couch arm, and sticks his chin out, asking for a kiss that Even’s more than happy to give him.

 

“I’ll be back soon,” he says.

 

Isak nods, his nose bumping Even’s cheek bone from the angle. “M’kay,” he hums. “Love you, babe.”

 

Getting up from his knees, Even drops a kiss on the top of Isak’s head. “Love you too, angel,” he says, because it would be unnatural not to say it back.

 

He puts his shoes on quickly, wrapping Isak’s scarf around his neck to keep warm- there’s nothing that keeps him warmer than Isak. With one last glance over his shoulder, he opens the door and takes off into the cold.

 

**

 

It takes a little longer than expected- about 45 minutes- because his mom is ridiculous and bought more shit than Even knows what to do with. Seriously, the fact that her other arm didn’t snap under the weight of all those bags is a miracle in and of itself, but eventually everything gets put away and he’s ready to leave. His mom tries to get him to take some cookies or something with him, but since he walked here, he declines, promising to come back tomorrow night with Isak and have dinner with her.

 

Stepping out into the chilly night air, Even wrestles with his phone free from the confines of his coat pocket as he bounces down the concrete steps to the snow-covered sidewalk. Since he’s been inside, the fine dusting of snow has turned into giant flakes blowing carelessly in the wind, refracting with a glimmer whenever they pass in front of a streetlight. There’s a path of footprints on the sidewalk that leads to a group of kids playing in the developing wonderland, their shrieks and laughter traveling down the otherwise deserted street like dandelion seeds scattering. It feels like stepping into a snow globe, peaceful and serenely beautiful in a strange kind of way that made it feel like the world’s frozen, suspended on a string.

 

That string effectively snaps when Even brushes the snow from his phone screen with his mitten to let Isak know he’s on his way back only to find that Isak had sent a text of his own.

 

The words blur together- whether from his panic or the instant shaking in his hands bouncing the phone he doesn’t know- but Even can still pick up the basic gist of the message, and he takes off in a dead sprint, racing down the street faster than the ice sweeping through his veins.

 

As he rounds the corner, he slides on a patch of ice and bumps into a man causing some of the guy’s groceries to spill over the top of the bulging paper bag he’s carrying, but Even doesn’t have the time to spare to apologize or even turn around as the guy throws a few curses in his direction. All of his focus is laser-pointed on keeping his body moving, on not letting the panic and fear take root because as soon as it does he’ll be paralyzed on the ground on his knees, which is not an option anymore because somehow it’s all happening again. Everything that he’d done, everything that was changed, everything about being brought back and “sometimes we fix things” was all an absolute fucking joke because Isak has sent a text that Magnus caught wind of a party happening a few blocks away from Mutta, followed by an address that Even can meet them at when he’s finished at his parents’ and a quick little “I love you.”

 

 God, it rang with the same kind of finality as the texts from last year, and somewhere in the back of his mind arises the question of whether these will become the new messages locked in his phone, posing as his last connection to his boy. His vision starts to go hazy around the edges with the thought.

 

Of course, the irony of the situation isn’t lost on him either, running to Isak after reading a text that sparked a fear in him that he was about to lose him when Isak had done the same for him. Not for the first time, he regrets doing that to Isak, instilling that spine-tingling fear in him. But, it worked out then. The universe aligned itself to let everything flow together like it was supposed to, so maybe this will work out too. It has to because they’re Isak and Even, 2 and 4.

 

He’s added the numbers and they measure up. They always measure up. Even now, with his lungs burning a frozen fire on every exhale as he runs to Isak, the clock on his phone ticks closer and closer to their time, to 21:21, 2+2, 1+1.  

 

He’ll make sure they measure up, even if he has to wiggle the pieces into place like jamming crooked puzzle pieces together until the little openings click together. That’s him and Isak, puzzle pieces waiting to be clinked into place to complete the picture, a picture where either Isak is alive and with him or they’re both dead in that fire because at the very least Even is going to get Jonas out. Eva is going to need him; his daughter is going to need him. There is no way in hell that Even is going to let a full replay happen. He’s going to change something even if it kills him.

 

The smoke is quickly becoming visible over the tops of buildings, kissing the skyline and clouding the few stars twinkling in the sky in a thin layer of diluted gray that serves as a beacon for Even, his eyes trained on the billowing black cloud like a dark version of a lighthouse until he no longer needs to look at street signs and the sky to find his way, until he’s face-to-face with the raging destruction, and it’s like all hell broke loose.

 

 

Firefighters are running up and down the block, grabbing supplies from the back of firetrucks, pushing onlookers back, hooking up hoses to blast water at the flames licking at the bricks. As soon as the water hits the frigid air, however, it starts to crystalize and evaporate in an icy fog. For a second, the chaos renders Even motionless. Then someone bumps into his shoulder, jolting him out of his frozen fixation as two more firetrucks roar up, their sirens piercing through the night, echoing off the buildings that reflect the red and blue flashes accompanying the sirens.

 

Pushing forward, Even desperately tries to get through the throng of people, not even bothering to look at who he’s shoving past, his entire being focused on nothing but the steps in front of the apartment where Isak is trapped. If he thinks about anything else, looks anywhere else but at those cracked steps, it’ll be game over. Because no matter how many times you hear about something like this, no matter how many times you watch a similar scene on tv, nothing compares to actually being there in the moment.

 

Before he even makes it past the row of firetrucks, a strong hand grabs him by the arm, yanking him backward.

 

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, kid?”

 

“My boyfriend’s in there,” Even mumbles distractedly, eyes not moving from their pointed stare at the door that’s beginning to warp from the intensity of the heat coming from inside.

 

“Well, it’s not your job to go in there after him,” the man says gruffly, taking advantage of Even’s detached state to push him back with two soot-covered hands pressed against his chest.

 

Even’s eyes snap down to the man’s hands before flicking up to meet his eyes with a fire of their own born out of wild desperation. “The hell it isn’t!” Even exclaims, wrapping his own hands around the firefighter’s wrists and throwing them off his body.

 

Immediately the hands are back, holding Even in place with a strength sure to leave bruises on his upper arms, but he barely registers the pain. Afterall, in the grand scheme of this moment, it’s barely a flicker of importance. “Listen to me. Listen to me, kid!” He gives Even a jolting shake to get his attention as he continues to fight against the guy to get in the building. “My men are taking care of it. They’re gonna get your boyfriend out. Probably already have.”

 

“No, you don’t understand. The door is jammed. He’s going to die!” Even shouts, thrusting his arm in the direction of the flames behind them, “He’s dying!”

 

As soon as the words leave Even’s mouth, the row of windows on the fifth floor blow out, sending shards of glass raining down onto the pavement. Apparently, that’s deemed as more of an emergency than keeping Even at bay because as soon as the blast registers, the firefighter lets go of Even. He gives him one final, rough shove back towards the opposite sidewalk and rushes over to his teammates, yelling something into the walkie-talkie on his shoulder as he goes.

 

That’s it. It’s over.

 

The words keep replaying through Even’s mind, stabbing pieces of his cortex like a knife while images of Isak swim behind his eyelids like a film montage. Only this isn’t a movie and he can’t even remember when he shut his eyes. It’s like he’s lost all control over his body: his breathing is out of control, hiccupping over itself and stopping only to come back online in a chocking gasp, like drowning, or suffocating, which, wouldn’t you know it, is exactly what just happened to his beautiful Isak.

 

God, the thought sends him reeling back, a shaky hand pressed against his mouth, teeth digging into his palm salty with sweat from the peaking anxiety and small marathon he’d run for apparently no reason. He’s trembling so badly that when the back of his ankle’s bump into the curb of the sidewalk behind him, he loses what little balance he had and falls down onto the concrete. It’s hard and unyielding in ways that Even’s not, in ways that he can’t be.

 

He sits there curled up with his face buried in his knees like a cheap imitation of the day before- or whenever the fuck he met the strange man who started all of this- as the cold and snow seep into his jeans. It’s nothing compared to the numbness seeping back into his veins.    

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Even whispers to himself, trying to soothe something that could never be healed, “It’s ok because he lived again. He was here and that’s all that matters.” The ending doesn’t change the beginning, doesn’t taint the middle, so Even can’t really bring himself to wish he’d made a different decision. When faced with the possibility of never feeling this pain or seeing Isak again, it was a no brainer. He would always pick his boy.

 

“Even?”

 

Even’s head instantly snaps up, searching the area around him through the chaos, all the while feeling like he’s just been doused in ice water because he knows that voice. It carries enough power that it could probably wake him up from a coma.

 

He sees Mikael first, standing to the side of an ambulance a little way down the street with what appears to be the small group of their friends that went to the party all in various states of dishevelment. Vilde’s talking to a paramedic who’s strapping the Velcro of a blood pressure cuff around Magnus’ upper arm, Noora is leaning against the open doors of the ambulance, running her fingers gently through Eva’s hair where she’s perched in the bed of the squad. There’s one of those gray shock blankets wrapped around Eva’s shoulder, but that’s not what makes Even do a double take. His eyes jolt back over to her in his scanning of the group because she’s sharing the blanket. Jonas is sat pressed up against her side, a corner of the blanket draped over his shoulders and a hand on Eva’s thigh. Jonas made it out.

 

Jonas is alive, and sitting next to him on the footrest of the ambulance back, wrapped up in a blanket of his own, blonde hair windswept and dusted with a fine layer of snow and ashes is “Isak?”

 

“Isak!” Even calls again, scrambling to get to his feet.

 

Isak shakily stands as well, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself like a cocoon, taking a tentative step towards Even that quickly transforms into a full-on sprint towards his boyfriend.

 

They meet in the middle, knocking into each other like an earthquake, swaying back and forth with the force of their collision, the only thing keeping them up their arms locked around each other. Nothing feels more real, more tangible than Isak’s arms squeezing his waist. The blanket is hanging limply around them both now, enveloping them in a delicate atmosphere of comfort and reassurance. It feels like a barrier protecting them from the rest of the world.

 

Everything around them seems to have just stopped, froze and faded out until there’s nothing except the two of them soaking in the warmth of each other, breathing in the scent of sweat and adrenaline and smoke that still has that underlying hint of their cheap store brand laundry detergent and the unmistakable smell of a warm summer rain that is pure Isak.  

 

“I thought I lost you,” Even mumbles, nuzzling his face in Isak’s hair.

 

Every second, the tip of his nose is met with a gentle bump that matches the rhythmic beating of Isak’s heart under his palm. It’s the sweetest thing he’s ever felt- his boy’s pulse- and Even finds himself having to squeeze his eyes shut against the tears leaking down his cheeks. They’re tears of relief but also tears of grief, mourning for his past self, an Even who will forever know how it truly feels to live without this boy who owns his entire heart, the boy who held the broken pieces of Even’s soul and mixed them with his own until they could be pasted into one mended being. He cries for an Even that will never exist.

 

Isak huffs a breath, presses a kiss in the crook of Even’s neck. “For a second there, I thought you did too.”

 

“That doesn’t make me feel much better,” Even laughs wetly, pulling back just enough that he can see Isak’s beautiful face while still keeping him close to his chest where he belongs. “What happened, baby?” he asks, searching Isak’s eyes- like a lighting strike under the greenest stripe of a rainbow.

 

“I don’t know,” Isak sniffs, glancing behind Even’s shoulder at the flames still burning behind them. He shudders and Even hugs him tighter to his chest. “We hadn’t really been here all that long when I got this strange feeling in the pit of my stomach. It was like- I don’t know. I can’t describe it, it just felt wrong. Like I was missing a piece of myself, like part of me was underwater struggling to breathe and no matter how hard I tried I couldn’t find the surface.” He pauses, cutting his eyes to Even’s meaningfully.

 

And Even gets it: the boy who couldn’t hold his breath underwater struggling to find air. A piece of his heart fractures.

 

Isak shakes his head. “Anyway, all I could think about was you, getting out of that building and coming back to you. So, I told Jonas that we needed to leave and while we were trying to find the others the fire alarm started going off. Everything hit the fan pretty quick after that.”

 

He doesn’t know why it matters, but he has to know “Where were you when you got the feeling you should leave?”

 

“Um, one of the back bedrooms I think? It was quieter back there. Less annoying drunk people running around.”

 

 

 

And, ok yeah. That’s enough to send tingles down his back like spider legs crawling down his spine. According to reports the night of the original fire, Isak had gotten trapped because of a faulty door latch in one of the back bedrooms the flat owner was renovating.

 

“Why, um,” Isak clears his throat, shrugging his shoulders awkwardly, “why does that matter?” The words come out sandpaper rough, like they’re stuck in his throat like crystalized honey, and Even can see it in his eyes. Isak is scared to ask because he’s already working on putting the pieces together.

 

Even shakes his head, brushing his thumbs along Isak’s cheeks soothingly. “It doesn’t.”

 

“Even.”

 

“Isak.”

 

They stare at each other for a few seconds, Isak’s breathing picking up in speed. Even’s starting to get concerned about the very real possibility of hyperventilation when Isak blurts in a rush, “This morning, your dream-”

 

“Nightmare,” Even corrects automatically, but Isak ignores him, pushing forward.

 

“This is what happened, isn’t it? I mean, you saw this. You knew this was gonna happen when you woke up. Oh my god, I was supposed to die in there, wasn’t I?”

 

“No,” Even says fiercely with such conviction that Isak snaps his mouth shut. “None of that was supposed to happen. That nightmare or other reality or whatever the fuck it was, it is nothing. It’s nothing, Isak. This,” Even says, cradling Isak’s face between his hands, “this is everything. You are everything. You’re my everything, Isak. This past year has been nothing but wrong. It was a fucked up mistake that never should have happened, and somehow we get a second chance. The very fabric of time unraveled itself for us, and I can feel it in my bones how right this is. Baby,” Even breathes, brushing his nose against Isak’s, “baby, we broke the world to be together.”

 

Isak gives him a small smile, nuzzling his nose back against Even’s. “I would break the entire universe to be with you,” he vows.

 

Even beams at him, wiping the tear tracks from Isak’s cheeks with his thumbs and drying the leftover wetness from the corners of his eyes with his lips.

 

 

 

**

 

They end up at the hospital anyway because apparently the paramedics at the scene are good but not good enough to clear everyone to go home. Not that Even’s complaining, though, he’s not going to take any chances when it comes to Isak.

 

All the way to the hospital, he was bright eyed and rosy cheeked, sitting on Even’s lap in the back of the ambulance and snuggling back into his chest while the EMTs continued to ask them questions to relay back to the doctors waiting for their arrival.

 

Something warm and glowing nestled in his chest every time his boy moved, every time Jonas answered a question, and Even was reminded that, yes, this is real. Somehow, they had all made it out the other side in one piece. Well, more like a group of little pieces that all connected to create one entity. If it weren’t for the very real smell of lingering smoke burning his nose every time he took a breath, he would probably think he was dreaming.

 

Unloading the ambulance and getting checked in at the hospital was much more of a hassle than anyone could have ever imagined. Nurses ran around collecting names and information, leading people down seemingly endless corridors of bright light, and passing around instructions like a joint at a party.  Even didn’t even pretend to understand the process. He just followed the others to the block of chairs by the big window in the waiting room overlooking the city and waited for each member of their group to be called for testing. Apparently, there was some kind of machine the doctors used in cases where individuals had been involved in a fire to check levels of smoke inhalation in the lungs.

 

So far, everyone was cleared with flying colors. Each all clear from the doctors feels like a ten-ton weight being lifted off his shoulders.

 

It’s around the time that Isak comes back with medical proof that he is actually alright and alive and in good health- Even absolutely does not almost cry again (he totally does)- when he sees him. The old man or whatever he is -at this point Even’s pretty fucking sure the guy is not entirely human- sitting in a wheelchair in the center of a corridor just off the side of the waiting room. He’s still wearing that same white suit and black tie combo as the first time they spoke after the grief group from hell.

 

From this angle, he almost resembles Even’s grandfather, the one who always used to sneak him candies before dinner and let Even be the red pawns when they played checkers. He used to wear suits too, though his never failed to have a bumblebee pin hooked to the lapel of his jacket. His eyes were also a vibrant blue like Even’s, nothing like the flash of purple emanating from the man’s eyes every time the florescent light in the ceiling panel above him flickers. It bodes well for his general aura of mystery that that is the only light having a blinking crisis in the entirety of the corridor, or anywhere else in the hospital that Even can see.

 

With a quick excuse to Isak and the boys, Even steadfastly makes his way over, glancing around to make sure that no one’s watching. Whether or not he’s the only one able to actually see Stan is still a little up in the air, and the last thing Even really needs is a medical student or nurse to find him talking to himself in a deserted hallway.

 

“What are you doing here?” Even bites out when he’s in hearing range. The words come out harsher than intended, but he can’t really find it in himself to care. Until he has some actual answers he’s going to consider this guy a threat. Afterall, if he has the ability to do all of this, to bring Isak back after a whole year, then Even has absolutely no reason not to believe that he can take it all back just as quickly. Even crosses his arms in defiance, shifting his stance to shield Isak and the others from Stan’s line of sight. “If you want him, you’re going to have to go through me.”

 

“Is that right?” Stan asks, folding his hands across his stomach and crossing his ankles as he leans back in the wheelchair. There’s something beneath the calm façade that radiates power, like if he were to snap his fingers the entire hospital would fall to its knees.

 

“Yeah, it is,” Even confirms coolly, widening his stance.

 

He’s only been in two fights in his life, the first a playground tussle with a boy in his class who wouldn’t stop pulling a girl’s pigtail and the second the altercation with Mikael and the boys outside of Syng. Neither one is really a pinnacle example of how to win a fight, especially when it comes to a supernatural being who deals in life and death, but Even’s got the determination of a thousand suns burning in his soul, and he’s pretty sure that he can kick this being’s ass. At the very least, he’ll give him a run for his money.

 

Stan raises his eyebrows, wordlessly sizing Even up, making him feel like a child caught stealing by his mother. After a moment, he lets out a soft chuckle, his entire demeanor changing. No longer is there an ebbing threat tingling under his skin. Instead, he just seems warm and open, patient in a way that throws Even for a loop.

 

“Relax, Even,” he laughs, holding his hands up in a calming gesture before refolding them on his stomach. “I’m not here for him. Call me old fashioned, but I like to check in on my investments, see how things turned out. So,” he says around a shit-eating grin, “how did things turn out?”

 

“They turned out… really fucking well I think,” he says on a delirious laugh.

 

Turning around, he catches a glimpse of Isak still sitting in the waiting room with the boys.  Since he left, they must have bought some snacks from the vending machine, which it looks like Isak and Magnus are currently in a heated debate about if the way they’re pointing and shoving the bag at each other is any indication. Isak looks carefree and so deliciously grumpy that Even’s momentarily thrown back in time again to his first day at Nissen when he saw his angel for the first time.

 

He had never seen anything more real, more visceral than the boy openly bitching into his phone at what he could only assume at the time was his sister. He had also never seen anything more beautiful. Just like then, he feels himself falling a little deeper in love with this boy.

 

In a way, it’s kind of cleansing, like starting over again, wiping the slate clean now that he’s able to love him without fear of losing him. Relief shoots through his chest, pushes into him and takes root in his heart like purple flowers growing through the concrete.

 

When he looks back at Stan, he finds the man also watching them, having leaned around the arm of the wheelchair to see past Even. There’s a smile gracing his face as his watches them, and that’s what gives Even the reassurance he needed to unfold his arms and relax, moving over slightly to lean against the broken brew-your-own-coffee machine. Idly, he wonders if the machine really is broken or if just like the light continuing to flicker above them Stan’s presence is affecting it in some way.

 

“This is real isn’t it?” Even asks warily. He almost doesn’t want to know, doesn’t really even want to ask, but he has to be sure. “I’m not going to wake up in a ditch beside the library, am I? I’m not concussed, or brain damaged or… I don’t know, but I’m not, right?”

 

“No, you’re not. You are very much here, and this is very much happening. I can’t stress to you enough how,” Stan heaves a sigh, “how truly and deeply sorry I am that this happened. Mistakes are… they’re very rare in my business, but some things do occasionally slip through our fingers. Though, I must admit, when they do they are hardly ever this monumental.”

 

Even snorts. “Yeah, I’ll bet.”

 

“I wish I had a better explanation for you, but the simple fact of the matter is that I just don’t. All I can offer you is the comfort that comes from the knowledge that sometimes we right our wrongs. This is the way that things were always meant to play out, so you can stop worrying. We’re not coming for him. You and Isak are one of those couples destined to travel together into the next life, and peacefully at that. I only wish that I could take back the pain that you experienced, but I’m afraid that those memories are yours and yours alone to keep.”   

 

Teeth sinking into his bottom lip, Even turns his head back to take in the scene unfolding in the waiting area. The boys are all spread out in various states of laziness, ranging from slumping full-body in the plush cushions of the seats to actively lying across two or three of the vacant chairs. Magnus somehow ended up sitting on the floor, Mahdi’s leg dangling from the end of his chair-bed resting over one of his shoulders.

 

As for Isak… his boyfriend is curled up in one of the larger chairs that’s clearly designed to hold more than one person. He’s whole-heartedly engaged in his debate with Magnus now, and Even watches in amusement as Magnus- obviously losing the battle- throws a handful of bright orange cheddar cheese popcorn right at Isak. The laughter that echoes from the waiting room down the corridor, fills Even up, covers the cracks in his heart with gauze. He finds himself starting to chuckle as well.

 

“You know what,” Even says, turning back to Stan, “I think that’s ok. It’s like I told you before: If I have to choose between keeping that pain or losing Isak,” he shrugs helplessly, “I’ll always choose him.”    

 

“I know.”

 

Even chews on his lip, contemplating whether or not he wants to ask his next question or not. By the time a little welt of blood bubbles through a crack in his lip to meet his tongue, he figures fuck it. If he doesn’t ask now, he’ll never get another chance, and Even doesn’t exactly do well with incurable curiosity.

 

“Not to be disrespectful or anything because I am so fucking grateful- seriously, like live in your debt forever grateful- but I have to ask: Why me? Why go through all of this trouble for me,” he gestures between himself and Isak, “for us, when there are thousands of other people out there in the same situation who are just as deserving of a second chance?”

 

“Are you under the impression that this kind of thing happens a lot?” Stan ponders. At least he doesn’t seem offended, more genuinely curious.

 

“People die every day.”

 

“Ah,” understanding flashes across Stan’s face. “Yes, I suppose it is true that people do die every day just as people are born every day. That’s the way it’s meant to be. The difference here is that it wasn’t Isak’s time. And, in a way, it wasn’t Jonas’ either.” With a sigh, Stan pushes himself up from the wheelchair. He walks over to Even. “I don’t exactly know what went wrong that night- I’m more of a big picture guy, I don’t typically interact with the fates of the day to day-” he waves his hands dismissively, “but what I can tell you is that whatever happened, Isak’s fate was so deeply intertwined with Jonas’ that we couldn’t tease them apart. No matter what we did, if Isak died, Jonas died. And if Isak lived…”

 

“Then Jonas lived,” Even fills in.

 

Stan nods in approval like a grade school teacher whose student just solved the toughest problem written on the board. “Exactly. Some people are just…” He trails off, staring fixedly at a chip in the paint on the wall, trying to figure the best way to explain it. “Some people are monumental, their souls interacting with and mingling with the souls of others in such a way that they actually shape parts of our realities. Isak is one of those people.”

 

Pride bursts through Even. He always knew his boy was special. Knew it the minute he laid eyes on him and he changed Even’s life.

 

“You are too.”

 

“Are too what?” Even asks in confusion. He’d kind of tuned out there for a moment but it almost sounded like Stan was saying that Even was someone special too. There’s no way that’s what he’s saying. Surely Even misheard him.

 

 

But when Stan speaks again- tone gentle, hand placed on Even’s shoulder- he doesn’t say what Even expected to hear. “You’re important to the universe. The stories you tell will impact the lives of people everywhere. Never doubt the fact that you deserve to be here, Even.”

 

Fuck.

 

He squeezes his eyes shut against the onslaught of emotion crashing through him like a tidal wave. After years of struggling with himself, trying to find a way to love the person he is while still sometimes wanting to scratch apart his insides, here he is being given the validation that he’s always craved.

 

He matters. He belongs. He deserves to be here, alive, to give love and be loved.

 

“By the way,” Stan calls as he retreats, pausing to glance back at Even, “I’m probably going to get in trouble for telling you this- but the heavens sing every time you and Isak meet. For some reason, this time it sounded like a shitty pop song.”

 

Even gasps around a wet laugh, bringing a trembling hand up to cover his mouth.

 

“Thank you,” he whispers, moving his hand just enough for the words to vibrate against the tips of his fingers.

 

Stan hears him, though. Grinning impishly, he bows his head, winks at Even, and sets off towards the opposite end of the corridor where he vanishes in a bright purple tinted light.

 

Taking a moment to steady his breathing, Even leans heavily against the wall, tipping his head back to stare at the cracks in the ceiling panels. He lets it all wash over him, everything that’s happened, everything that Stan just told him. Isak is here to stay. They were destined to meet each other, and not only that but apparently the world fucking rings with the sounds of their imminent union. To top it all off, the icing on the cake, Even now knows that he’s an integral part of the universe, he deserves to be here just as much as everyone else. It’s like the rainbow that comes out at the end of a hurricane.

 

He can’t stay here forever, though, and he’s feeling kinda antsy to get back within range of Isak, so he finally exits the hallway and makes his way back towards the others, back towards life, towards Isak. Life and Isak, two words he can not only use together in a sentence again but that are, once again synonymous, like Isak and love or Isak and home.

 

Like Isak and Even.

 

As soon as he’s within reach, Isak latches onto him, grabbing him by the sleeve of his jacket and pulling Even down into the chair with him. He lands at an awkward angle, half on top of Isak’s lap and half on the chair. He’s not complaining, though, even with the arm rest digging into his side. This is his new favorite place to be.

 

“Will you please tell Magnus that putting cheddar cheese on popcorn is an act against God and should be punishable by law?” Isak asks him, twisting their fingers together as he does so, distracting Even from the clearly important task at hand. “Focus,” he says when Even doesn’t answer fast enough, shoving against Even with his shoulder all squinty-eyed and scrunched nose, almost too adorable for Even to handle. Despite the harsh word, he tosses his leg over Even’s thighs and wiggles closer.

 

Truth be told, he’s probably just trying to get away from the chair’s arm by leaning on Even instead. Whatever, though, Even’s long made his piece with being whatever Isak needs him to be. He squeezes his thigh with the hand not currently holding Isak’s like a life line.   

 

“But baby,” he whines, pulling Isak even closer into his space until it’s impossible to discern who’s sitting on who. As it is, he can barley register where he ends and Isak begins, which is exactly how he likes it. “It’s so hard for me to concentrate when you’re all close and hot like this.”

 

“Well, try,” Isak says, skimming his nose along Even’s cheek. “You can worship me later.”  

 

“Don’t think I won’t,” he whispers, quickly turning his head and catching Isak’s nose with his lips in a brief kiss that makes Isak’s eyes shine. Turning to Magnus, he confirms “Cheddar cheese should never be put on popcorn. I don’t think it should be deemed an act against God, but then again who am to say what would and wouldn’t upset the man.”

 

“See?” Isak says with a pleased, cocky grin.

 

“Because he’s not biased at all,” Jonas deadpans.

 

“I don’t think that’s it, though,” Mahdi adds. “Even’s the kind of guy who probably believes that the only thing that goes on popcorn is butter. He probably gets mad if anyone even so much as suggests adding something to it like M&Ms.”

 

“Excuse me,” Even scoffs, hand on his chest in offense, “it’s called traditional for a reason.”

 

“Yeah, because old people like you enjoy it,” Magnus grumbles under his breath, taking another huge handful of the awful popcorn and crumpling the bag to throw at a trash can. It misses by a good foot.

 

“Damn, Magnus,” Even says in offense, “and here I thought we were friends.”

 

“We are friends!” Magnus defends. “It’s just that, you know-”  

 

“Isak is robbing the grave instead of the cradle,” Mahdi chuckles helpfully, pulling a bite from his gummy worms. 

 

“I am not that old! I’m only two years older than Isak.”

 

“Technically three now,” Isak says, referencing his birthday last month when Even may have gone overboard on declaring himself to be three years older than his man now.

 

Even just shakes his head in exasperation. He wants to be upset or offended or something, but all he feels deep inside himself is an overwhelming fondness for his boy. “And after everything I’ve done for you,” he teases, a hand over his heart.

 

“What can I say,” Isak breathes, covering Even’s hand with his own and squishing their noses together, “Guys my age don’t know how to treat me.”

 

Even laughs, pulling Isak in for a heated kiss by the strings on his hoodie.

 

“I was wrong,” Isak amends breathily when they break apart, “No guys know how to treat me but you.”

 

And for that, Even has no other choice but to lick the smile from his lips, absorbing it into his bloodstream like a shot of sunshine. Isak tastes like salted chips and Mountain Dew, but underneath all of that is the unmistakable flavor of home that always radiates out of Isak, making Even float in a haze. Just twenty-four hours ago he thought he’d be homesick forever, and now here he is- here they are- walking in the front door kicking their shoes off and embracing in the foyer.

 

All of that he finds in Isak. In his heart, his eyes, his lips. His soul that Even can almost feel swirling around his own until it can curl up in that special place in Even’s heart that he carved out just for him. People always say that you can’t hold the world in your hands, but that’s ridiculous because here Even is, hands cupped around Isak’s cheeks, holding his entire world, his entire life in his hands.

 

They only break apart when someone clears their throat, and even then they don’t go far, just resting their foreheads together. Occasionally, their noses bump together.

 

“Eva’s coming back,” Jonas reports softly.

 

The words float into their quiet little world and gently pull them back; and sure enough, Eva’s slowly making her way over. Her complexion is paler than before, and she looks more than a little dazed. Jonas comments on it immediately.

 

“Are you ok? The doctor didn’t give you bad news or something, did he?”

 

“No, no. Nothing like that,” Eva says shaking herself. “I’m alright. Actually, we’re, um, we’re both alright.”

 

“We’re?”

 

“Both?” Jonas asks, sliding forward on his seat. His hands are squeezed together between his knees, fingers practically turning white as he holds himself back, wanting to be sure.

 

Beside him, Isak gasps softly in realization, his eyes fluttering wide, and Even squeezes his hand, a smile overtaking his face.

 

“Both,” she nods, and with a shy smile held down by her teeth sinking into her bottom lip, she places her hands over her belly, cradling her stomach.  

 

For a moment, everything is completely still. Then, it erupts in chaos.

 

Jonas jumps up from his chair to wrap Eva in his arms so fast he practically teleports. Magnus tosses his head back, throws his arms over his head in victory and exclaims loudly, “You’re pregnant! Fy faen. Oh my god,” before rushing forward and crushing Eva in a hug that would have sent Jonas to the floor if it weren’t for Magnus grabbing his arm and reeling him back in.

 

“You guys need to get in on this,” Magnus orders, face red and bursting with joy, “We’re having a baby, guys! We’re gonna have a little Joneva baby. Or would it be Evnas? Oh, who gives a shit, guys, we’re having a baby!”

 

Isak rolls his eyes. “I’m pretty sure we aren’t doing shit considering it’s Eva and Jonas’ baby, but go off I guess,” he tells Magnus, but he goes easily when Mahdi grabs his arm and drags him along into the group hug.

 

The commotion paired with Magnus’ shouts that in all probability could have woken the dead- seriously people in China are probably now aware of the fact that Eva is pregnant- draws the attention of the other members of their friend group who were scattered around the hospital entrance. Noora rushes over before anyone else, but to be fair Vilde was sidetracked by giving an ear shattering shriek before sprinting over, ramming into the group and jostling everyone as she continues to practically vibrate.

 

Even watches it all unfold in front of him, a small smile gracing his lips, committing the moment to memory. This is how it was supposed to go; it feels like the first drops of water misting over your face after suffering through the longest, driest drought.

 

Eventually, he slides out of his chair to his feet. With the increased height, he can see Eva in the center of the group. She looks up and meets his eyes, tilting her head in question. Realization clouds her eyes and pushes her way over to him with wide eyes. Before she can say anything, Even wraps his arms around her shoulders and pulls her into a hug.

 

“You knew, didn’t you,” she says in his ear. It’s not a question.

 

He huffs a laugh. “Yeah, I did,” he replies. Pulling back, he runs his hands down her arms to grasp onto her hands. “She’s amazing, Eva. You’re gonna love her, and you’re gonna be an amazing mom.”

 

Eva lights up like a strand of multicolored lights lining the branches of a Christmas tree. Behind them, Jonas calls for Eva and she shoots a look over her shoulder before turning back to Even looking conflicted.

 

“Go on,” he encourages with a smile, jerking his chin in the direction of their friends.

 

She scrunches her eyes shut, shaking her head. With a deep exhale, she snaps her eyes back open and Even can just see the beginnings of a fine mist clouding her eyes. “I don’t know what happened today, but I’m really glad that you’re here.” Laying a kiss on his cheek, she spins around and works her way back into the throng of their friends celebrating.

 

“I’m glad I’m here too,” he says to no one in particular, accepting the pair of strong arms that wrap around his waist, pressing his lips against Isak’s warm temple.

 

Mostly, he’s just glad to have Isak.

 

**

 

“Can you believe Eva’s really pregnant?” Isak asks from the bathroom where he’s finishing up his nighttime routine. The words come out slightly slurred and Even assumes that’s because Isak’s talking around his toothbrush.

 

“Stranger things have happened,” he calls back from his spot curled up under the duvet.

 

He’d already brushed his teeth, washed his face, and did his walk through of the flat, checking to make sure doors were locked, windows were shut, and all the appliances and lights were off. Now the only light illuminating the bedroom comes from the moon-shaped night light that depicts constellations on the ceiling and the dull yellow light coming from the bathroom. Even hears Isak spit and the water run for a few seconds, then Isak emerges looking delectably soft in his boxers and Jesus t-shirt.

 

“I am deeply going to enjoy watching Jonas freak out about it all,” he says, flicking the bathroom light off and crossing the small space over to the bed.

 

His curls bounce wildly as he crawls over the blankets, jostling everything, including Even as he worms his way under the duvet beside him, effectively creating openings in the blanket burrito that Even had wrapped himself up in. Cold air comes rushing in as Isak shifts around, and Even glares at him as the nice veil of warmth slowly starts to dissipate. Like the fucker he is, Isak just smiles up at him innocently like he isn’t damn well aware that he’s turning Even into a popsicle. It only gets worse when, once he’s settled, Isak sticks his cold-as-all-hell ice block feet under Even’s calves.

 

“Hei,” he says, bumping his nose into Even’s jaw.

 

Even absolutely melts.

 

Throwing his arm over Isak, he grabs the side of the duvet tucked on Isak’s other side and scoops both the blankets and his boyfriend over, snuggling them closer together until they’re breathing the same air. They’re in their own little world, the duvet pulled up over their heads completely sheltering them from the outside world.  

 

Even watches him, gets lost in the green sparkle of his eyes. Cupping Isak’s cheek in his hand, he brushes his thumb over Isak’s eyebrow. “I adore you.”

 

It’s Isak’s turn to melt now. He captures Even’s hand in his own and brings it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the middle of his open palm. He kisses the tip of each one of Even’s fingers, his eyes never leaving Even’s.

 

“How are you doing with everything?” he whispers, keeping their hands linked.

 

“I think I’m doing okay. I have you now after all, don’t I. But what about you, how are you feeling?”

 

“’M alright. A little bit shaky still, but nothing I can’t handle.” He glances up at Even, “It’s over now, though, right? Like you said that you have me now, so does that mean that-”

 

Even darts forward, cutting Isak off with a hard, reassuring kiss, his heart cracking. “You’re not going anywhere, baby, I promise. You are staying right here with me forever.”

 

Isak lets out the breath he was holding, sagging into Even’s arms as relief sweeps through him. He might not understand shit about what went down, but he trusts Even with every fiber of his being, and if he says that everything’s fine, then Isak believes him. “Okay, good,” he says, licking his lips nervously, “there’s no place else I’d rather be.”

 

Even rubs his thumb along Isak’s cheekbone, watching in fascination as the skin tints a soft pink, pliant under Even’s touch, just like his sweet boy, always malleable to Even. Licking his lips, he leans in to capture Isak’s mouth with his own, kissing him with familiarity and passion, heat and comfort all at once.

 

Isak tastes like mint and a little bit like the sterility that comes from sitting in a hospital for too long. But underneath all that, is the unmistakable flavor of Isak- all warmth and love, the closest Even has ever felt to being settled in his own skin.

 

“I love you,” Even breathes against his mouth. The words slide their lips together, creating a kiss all of their own as they pass between them, soak into Isak’s flesh until they become part of him.

 

“I love you too,” Isak declares, his tongue brushing fleetingly against Even’s lips. In the warm air between them, the words become real, almost as if they never had any meaning at all until Even and Isak infused it into them.

 

Even bumps his nose against Isak’s, brushing over it once, twice, three times, delighting in the way the tip of his nose scrunches as they nuzzle together. The smile Isak gives him in return before moving to duck his head in Even’s chest is warm. Isak’s eyes crinkling into little suns that Even can feel swimming in his veins, fusing into his bones.

 

Isak presses a lingering kiss to the side of Even’s neck right above his pulse. He wiggles around a little more until he’s fully lying over Even’s chest, his fingers twisting in the hem of Even’s shirt, brushing against the exposed skin above his waistband. Even slips his hand under Isak’s shirt to trace his fingers up and down the dips in his spine. It’s quiet. Peaceful.

 

“Can I ask you something?” Isak asks into the stillness. It doesn’t shatter the moment, though. If anything, it makes it more real.

 

Even hums, and Isak takes that for the go ahead it is. “How long are you going to look at me like that?”

 

He can feel his eyebrows shoot up. He hadn’t been aware that he was looking at Isak any differently than normal. But then again, he does have a habit of wearing his emotions, so he can only imagine what Isak sees when Even looks at him.

 

“Depends,” he says, shrugging his shoulder and watching as some of Isak’s curls move on his chest, creating a mosaic on Even’s shirt.

 

Isak looks up curiously, poking his chin into Even’s chest to better look at him. “On what?”

 

“How long you’re gonna let me.”

 

“Oh God,” Isak moans with an eye roll, lying his head back on Even’s chest above his heart, “You’re going to be doing this for the rest of our lives then, aren’t you.” He sounds exasperated, but the little heart he draws on the skin of Even’s waist gives him away.

 

Even smiles at the stars twinkling on the ceiling above them. “Sounds good to me,” he whispers, drawing a mirroring heart on Isak’s shoulder blade.

 

Later, he’ll tell Isak everything Stan said- about Isak, about Even, about them. He’ll tell Isak how he was right about the parallel universes, how they meet each other over and over again, the heavens ringing with the sounds of their love, which this time sounded like a pop song.

 

The thought makes him chuckle, makes him envision the way Isak’s nose will crinkle in distaste when he learns of that little tidbit. Maybe he’ll even declare it to be another hashtag moment-when you meet the man of your dreams and subject the heavens to Gabrielle.

 

They have time. So, Even allows himself to be lulled into sleep, the sounds of their combined breathing serving as a lullaby, the beats of their hearts on top of each other providing the soothing rhythm.

 

**

 

When Even next wakes up, the clock reads 02:04 March 10th.

 

And Isak is still here.

 


End file.
